“Oh! I suppose so, but I haven’t much hopes of getting one,” he answered impatiently. Then seeing the tears in her eyes at the thought of the washing waiting to be done, he kissed her tenderly. “I’ll do the best I can, dear; I know you’re tired.”
“Well, the next one I get I hope mother ’ll let me manage her. If Hepsie wouldn’t stand her ways of talking about things none of the rest will.” After a moment’s reflection she added: “I cannot do all this work myself. I’m so tired I’m ready to die.”
John slipped his arm about her and said earnestly:
“I’ll do all I can to help you with the dinner dishes, but you are not to say one word to mother about this.”
It was gently put, but authoritative.
“Then you needn’t look for one at all,” she said sharply.
John’s arm fell from about her and he looked at her in cold astonishment.
“I don’t care,” she insisted. “I can’t keep a girl and have mother looking over every piece of washing that is hung on the line.”
“Mother kept girls a long time in her own house,” he answered, taking offence at once.
“I don’t care; she dealt with a different kind of girls.” Then with a sudden illumination, she added: “She didn’t have such quantities of work to do, either. If we go on this way we’ll have to have help and keep it or we’ll have to cut down the farm work.” She brightened with the thought. “Let’s cut the work down anyhow, dear. I’d have so much an easier time and—and you wouldn’t have all those wages to raise every month, and we could live so much more comfortably.”