"You churned this morning! Why, what has come over you, daughter?"
"Dear me, what a fuss about a little churning! As if I'd never done as much before!"
The old man was so well pleased that he did not hint that butter, made in his own house, seemed like a miracle to him.
"But bread—when did we have a baking?"
"No matter about that. There are plenty of cakes, raised with eggs, too."
"That's capital," said the old man, throwing off a load of anxiety that had oppressed him all the way home. "We shall get along famously. The young man has got uncommon education, you see, Judith, and it isn't often that I get a chance to talk with any one given to reading; so I want you to make things extra nice. Now I'll go and see what can be found on the bushes."
"I've picked all the berries, and got them in the dish, father."
"Why, Judith!"
"You asked me to, or as good as that, so there's nothing to wonder at."
The old man drew a deep breath. A little kindness was enough to make him happy, but this was overpowering.