"How white and squashy that dough looks," she said, as Joyce turned it deftly out on the moulding-board and began kneading it. "I'd like to put my fingahs in it the way you do, and pat it into shape, and pinch in the cawnahs. I wish you'd let me try to make a loaf next week. Will you, Joyce?"
"You may now, if you want to," said Joyce. Lloyd started to her tent to wash her hands, but Jack's shout out in the road stopped her as she reached the door. He was galloping toward the house as fast as Washington could carry him, and she waited to hear what he had to say.
"Get your rifle, quick, Lloyd!" he called, waving his hat excitedly. "Chris says that the river is full of ducks. We can get over there and have a shot at them before supper-time if we hurry. I'll catch your pony and saddle him while you get ready."
"How perfectly splendid!" cried Lloyd, her eyes shining with pleasure. "I'll be ready in almost no time." Then, as he galloped on toward the pasture, she turned to Joyce. "Oh, I wish you could go, too!"
"So do I," was the answer; "but it's out of the question. We've only the one horse, you know, and I haven't any gun, and I can't leave the baking, so there's three good reasons. But I'm glad you have the chance, Lloyd. Run along and get ready. Don't you bother about me."
By the time Jack came back leading Lloyd's pony, she was ready and waiting at the kitchen door, in her white sweater and brown corduroy riding-skirt. Her soft, light hair was gathered up under a little hunting-cap, and she carried her rifle in its holster, ready to be fastened to her saddle.
"Oh, I wish you were going, too, Joyce!" she exclaimed again, as she stood up in the stirrups and smoothed the folds of the divided skirt. Settling herself firmly in the saddle and gathering up the reins with one hand, she blew her an airy kiss with the other, and started off at the brisk pace Jack set for her on Washington.
Joyce called a laughing good-bye after them, but, as she stood shading her eyes with her hand to watch them ride away, all the brightness seemed to die out of the mid-afternoon sunshine.
"How much I should have enjoyed it!" she thought. "I could ride as well as Jack if I had his pony, and shoot as well as Lloyd if I had her rifle, and would enjoy the trip to the river as much as either of them if I could only leave the work. But I'm like that old Camelback Mountain over there. I'll never get away. It will be this way all the rest of my life."
Through the blur of tears that dimmed her sight a moment, the old mountain looked more hopeless than ever. She turned and went into the house to escape the sight of it. Presently, when the loaves were in the oven, and she had nothing to do but watch the baking, she brought her portfolio out to the kitchen and began looking through it for a sketch she had promised to show to Lloyd. It was the first time she had opened the portfolio since she had left Plainsville, and the sight of its contents made her fingers tingle. While she glanced over the sketches she had taken such pleasure in making, both in water-colours and pen and ink, her mother came into the kitchen.