CHAPTER VII
THE MAN OF THE FAMILY
AT first Miles found a jarring unfitness in everyday life. Only eight and forty hours before, they had buried his father on the bluff overlooking the harbor; they had read no prayers over the dead, as the ministers did in England, and, lest the savages should spy and note how few the colonists were becoming, they had levelled the grave, like the many round about it. A raw wind had blown from off the sea, so Goodwife Rigdale shivered as she stood by the grave, and Miles's hands were senseless with the cold.
Now it was over, and Goodman Rigdale dead and buried, but life went on, just as usual. Goodwife Rigdale helped Mistress Brewster prepare food, and ate of it herself; and Love and Wrestling, sorry though they had been for their playmates' sorrow, frolicked gayly with Solomon, whom Ned Lister had brought to the cottage, bag and all. By the second day, though her eyes were still heavy with crying, and her mouth tremulous, Dolly plucked up spirit to join the boys. Even earlier, Miles had begun to fetch wood and water for Mistress Brewster, lay the fire, and help where he could; if only everything had stopped for a time, till he could realize what had happened and master himself, he felt he could bear it; but the petty acts of living would go on.
In such a mood of wretchedness he trudged forth on the third morning, up the path beyond the spring, to fetch sticks from the edge of the wood where the trees had been felled. He gathered the fagots, and was trying to tie them strongly, as his father tied the swamp grass that last day they worked together, when he saw Francis Billington, also in search of wood, drawing near.
"Why, Miles!" the newcomer greeted him, in some surprise, for in these days Miles avoided his old comrades. But now there was no avoiding till the wood was tied up, so Francis came to him and, a bit awed, tried clumsily to be sympathetic. "I'll help you tie that wood, Miles."
"I c'n do 't alone."
"Look you, my daddy's going fowling to-day. Mayhap he'll take us."
"I don't want to go," snapped Miles, with a sick sort of anger that other boys still could talk of their fathers.
"You might at least be civil to a body," Francis said rather huffily. "What need to carry such a face for it, Miles? You were mortal afeard of your father while he lived. And now he can never flog you no more."