Knowing the haunts of hens, he went toward the currant bushes. It was one of those soft days that link late spring and dawning summer. The coolness of the sweet-odored air, the twitter of numberless dawn birds, the entreating lowing of distant cattle––all breathing life and strength––were like a resurrection call to David. 41
On the east porch, which was his retreat for a smoke or a rest between the intervals of choring and meals, Barnabas sat, securely wedged in by the washing machine, the refrigerator, the plant stand, the churn, the kerosene can, and the lawn mower. He gazed reflectively after David.
“What are you going to hev Dave do to help, M’ri?”
M’ri came to the door and considered a moment.
“First of all, Barnabas, I am going to have him eat. He is so thin and hungry looking.”
Barnabas chuckled. His sister’s happiest mission was the feeding of hungry children.
After breakfast, when Janey’s rebellious curls were again being brushed into shape, M’ri told David he could go to school if he liked. To her surprise the boy flushed and looked uncomfortable. M’ri’s intuitions were quick and generally correct.
“It’s so near the end of the term, though,” she added casually, as an afterthought, “that maybe you had better wait until next fall to start in.” 42
“Yes, please, Miss M’ri, I’d rather,” he said quickly and gratefully.
When Janey, dinner pail in hand and books under arm, was ready to start, David asked in surprise where Jud was.