Mary Jane frowned and settled her cap with dignity. “I like not too much talk. If we save our breath it will help in the lifting. Be careful of the door, please, I would not have the wood scarred.”
“Clear the ways, my hearties,” the peddler called, not seeming to be disturbed by Mary Jane’s dignified words, “I’m the man for that job. Up you get, Mistress Mary, and down goes Jake, the indigo peddler. I can holystone a deck, why not brush up the ashes?”
Mary Jane looked doubtfully at her helper, but she soon admitted that he used the shovel and the turkey wing with a neat hand. Father said that it was often more generous to accept help than to give it, and so thinking, she turned to other work.
Directing Dorothy to take one kettle and Abigail the other, Mary Jane started them to cleaning the woodwork. There was plenty of hot water in the big pot which had been hanging on the crane, and there were soft soap and stout cloths. The girls were careful not to waste the soap, but they hunted for every speck and streak of dirt. Having answered a call from her mother, Mary Jane came back to the kitchen, bright-eyed, but demure. Mother had said that she wished Abigail to wash up the bricks in the fireplace, and Mary Jane would clean the windows. Master Jake had helped them generously, but they could finish up the rest of the work alone, their mother thought.
“Just as the Mistress says. I’ll be off. Indigo has gone a-begging this morning, but perhaps I can sell some cochineal up the road. Good-day and the Lord bless ye!” So saying the old man bent to his pack and trudged away.
Abigail stood and pondered. She was mischievously interested in the change of plan. Mary Jane generally washed out the fireplace.