“What does it mean, Dorothy? Dost think John Lewis would notice if Mary Jane’s hands were smutted and grimy?”
“Methinks ’tis best for us to stop talking and get to our work. Mother would have Mary Jane make a good impression. Mary Jane is comely, and John Lewis is not a-courting us.” Dorothy’s reproof was gently made, and she smiled at Abigail.
The three sisters worked steadily and swiftly. Mary Jane appeared not to hear the whispering of the younger girls. She polished the windows, and the warm sunshine filled the room. She soon relieved Dorothy of further cleaning, and sent her into the yard under the hickory tree to sew a long seam. The child fastened her work with a sewing-bird to a little table, and sewed industriously.
John came in just then, and took down the shoemaker’s last. He wanted to get out an ugly nail from his mother’s shoe. She would soon be up again. Mary Jane asked him if he would take the children out to hunt for hens’ nests after he had finished. She hoped to have a custard for supper.
A little later her father followed John in from the flax patch, and the family gathered for dinner, eating cold boiled salmon and the dried-apple pie which Mary Jane had hurriedly made in the morning. These, with milk and Johnny cake, soon satisfied the hungry workers and each was back at his task.
Father and John predicted a thunder-shower in the late afternoon, and Mary Jane looked anxiously at the clouds. Perhaps the shower would go round? She was not much tired, she thought, and the work, in spite of accidents, was going well. It would be too hard if she finished the kitchen in time and then had to give up her visit to Jenny because of a thunder-shower. But after dinner the work went more slowly. It seemed as if she could not get things all finished and the kitchen looking just right. She was more tired than she had realized. But her determination to get away for a little time before supper grew with her weariness. She worked desperately to put the finishing touches on the room, and, after a while, it suited her.
Abigail and Dorothy had gone out with John and the little boys to hunt for eggs, before they washed and changed their dresses. Mary Jane’s mother and the little baby brother were sleeping and her grandmother’s spinning-wheel made the only sound in the afternoon’s stillness. The room darkened with the coming storm. The leaves of the red geraniums moved in the rising wind, and the white, sash curtains blew out into the room. Mary Jane picked a dried leaf out of the basket of freshly laundered caps and straightened the blue calico cushion in the rocking chair.
