But Lucas heard their discussion and again came to their help. Lyddy had bought a new clothesline when she purchased her food supplies at the city department store, and the clever Lucas quickly roped the old bedstead.
“That boy certainly is rising by leaps and bounds in my estimation,” admitted ’Phemie, in a whisper, to her sister.
Then came the problem of the bed. Lyddy had saved their pillows from the wreck of the flat; but the mattresses had gone with the furniture to the second-hand man. There might be good feather beds in the farmhouse attic; Aunt Jane had said something about them, Lyddy believed. But there was no time to hunt for these now.
“Here is a tick,” ’Phemie said again. “What’ll we fill it with?”
“Give it to me,” volunteered Lucas. “One of the stable lofts is half full of rye straw. We thrashed some rye on this place last year. It’s jest as good beddin’ for humans as it is for cattle, I declare.”
“All right,” sighed ’Phemie. “We’ll bed down like the cows for a while. I don’t see anything better to do.”
But really, by sunset, they were nearly to rights and the prospect for a comfortable first night at Hillcrest was good.
Lucas’s huge fire warmed both the kitchen and the bedroom, despite the fact that the evening promised to be chilly, with the wind mourning about the old house and rattling the shutters. The girls closed the blinds, made all cozy, and bade young Pritchett good-night.
Lyddy had paid him the promised dollar for transporting their goods, and another half-dollar for the work he had done about the house that afternoon.
“And I’ll come up in the mornin’ an’ bring ye the milk an’ eggs maw promised ye,” said Lucas, as he drove away, “and I’ll cut ye some more wood then.”