"My dear, I do not agree with you at all," I replied; "there were no horses being driven for pleasure on their day of rest; there was nothing but the cogs and wheels of a machine and half a pint of gasolene. You were perfectly right to go. Don't mind what any one may say. It was a perfectly innocent recreation and refreshment, which you of all people are certainly entitled to."
But my efforts were in vain, though she said: "It is a great comfort to find you do not blame me, but I must blame myself."
July 24.
Good Miss E. spent last night here so that I should have some one near, and she made me a delicious cup of coffee and a nice little breakfast in spite of all I could say. Then she went home, and I fed the chickens and washed up the dishes and did all the housework, drawing buckets and buckets of water from the well, and I felt so proud and pleased with myself when I found it was only 9:30 and I had done all the work, for I had to do Dab's as well as Chloe's.
It is a great thing to know just what the work is, and if you do it once yourself you know just what the labor is. It is not a third of the amount of work I had supposed.
After finishing I sat down in the door of the sitting room to get every breath of air and embroidered and had a day of luxury—no interruptions, except when one waiter arrived with tomatoes, another with a muskmelon, and just at noon a specially dainty little tray with a glass of blackberry shrub and, O joy, a lump of ice in it.
I do not know when I have had such a quiet, peaceful day. As the horse and vehicle were gone I had no way of going to the plantation, which is my daily duty, and so felt free to enjoy myself.
July 28.
My poor Chloe is very ill with rheumatism—it is distressing, she suffers so. Dab is distinguishing himself and so am I.
I rise at five, so as to churn and knead and do my part of Chloe's work. Dab does the cooking very well and with enthusiasm. I am conscious that with both of us it is the enthusiasm of new brooms and am looking with terror to the inevitable slump.