"Dorothy, that calf o' yours won't never be no good. The man give him to you, all right, an' 'peared amazin' generous. But—he cal'lated on gettin' back more'n his money's worth. He'd tried to sell old Hannah time an' again, so Mrs. Calvert was told, an' couldn't, 'count of her being so hard to keep track of. He didn't dast to sell without the calf alongside, for if he did the critter's so tearin' lively she'd 'a' got back home to his farm 'fore he did, drive as fast as he might. But what he planned was: your ma take the calf for a gift an' she'd have to send to his mill to get feed an' stuff for to raise it on. To keep both cow an' calf would cost—I don't know how much, but enough to suit him all right. 'Tother side the matter, his side, you did get Hannah cheap. She's good breed, her milk'll make nice butter——"
"It does! Splendid, perfectly splendid! Mrs. Smith showed mother how to manage and it all came back to her, for she had only, as father says, 'mislaid her knowledge' and she makes all the butter we need. Not all we want—We could eat pounds and pounds! But it takes a good many quarts of milk to make a pound of butter, I've learned; and an awful lot of what father calls 'circular exercise' to make the 'butter come.' Mother bought one of those churns that you turn around and around, I mean a dasher around and around inside the churn—I get my talk mixed up, sometimes—and it takes an hour, maybe, to turn and turn. Worse than freezing ice cream in a 'ten-minute' freezer, like we had in Baltimore, yet had to work all morning to get it frozen ready for Sunday dinner. Mother thinks a dash-churn, stand and flap the dasher straight up and down till your arms and legs give out, is the best kind. But the around-and-around is the modern sort; so, of course, she got that. If Daisy-Jewel and Piggy-Wig didn't need so much milk themselves there'd be more for us. And somehow, you don't make me feel very nice toward Mr. Oliver Sands."
"Say, Dorothy. Mis' Calvert's notion is for you to sell Daisy an' buy a horse. Will you, if you get a chance?"
"Simple Simon! A horse is worth lots and lots more than a calf! was that what she meant when she said a calf might turn into a colt? A colt is a horse, after all. A little horse. Well, maybe she was right. I might sell a little calf and get a little colt. But who in the world would buy? Besides, despite all the trouble she makes, mother wouldn't part with that pretty, écru-colored cow, and Hannah will not be separated from Daisy-Jewel. I mean Daisy-Jewel will not be separated from Hannah. Even a man, Mr. Oliver Sands, said that would be 'cruel.' You don't want to have me cruel, do you, Jim Barlow?"
"Shucks! Hannah won't mourn for no calf, longer 'n a couple of hours, 'less she's different from any cow I ever see, light-complected or otherwise. As for that jumpin' notion o' hern; I'll fix her! I've been layin' out to do it, ever since I heard she done it, but somehow I didn't get the chance."
"You didn't get the chance because you never take it. I don't think it's right, Jim Barlow, for you to work every minute of daylight, fearing you won't do all your horrid 'duty' to your employer, then study all night to make yourself 'fit for your friends,' as you told me. Maybe, some of your friends might like to see you, now and then, before you are 'fit,'" returned Dorothy, and with that they came to the gate of Skyrie and drove over the path to the barn, the path, or driveway, which that very morning had been overgrown and hidden with grass and weeds, but now lay hard and clean as if just newly made.
"Pshaw! Somebody's been busy, I declare!" cried Jim, admiringly, and leaped out to tie Mr. Smith's "nag" in a comfortable shady place. He did not offer to help Dorothy alight, nor did she either wait for or expect this courtesy; but seeing mother Martha in the kitchen, ran to her with an account of her brief outing.
The housemistress had slipped away from the few women guests left remaining in the field where dinner had been served. Most of them had already left for home, their part in the day's proceedings having been well finished, and each a busy farmwife who had snatched a half-day from her own crowding tasks to help the "Bee" along.
She had made many acquaintances, she was glad to know them. She "liked folks better than scenery," as she had once complained to her husband, during a fit of homesickness for "dear old Baltimore"; but she was very tired. The excitement of this unexpected visitation, and the varying emotions of the day had strangely wearied her. Besides, deep down in her heart—as in father John's—lay a feeling of wounded pride. She had been very happy, for a time, she had found herself the center of much kindly attention: and yet—she wished that the need for such attention had not existed. So she was glad now of the privacy of her kitchen whither none would intrude; and into which Dorothy ran, full of talk and eager above all things to tell of that astonishing offer of Mrs. Calvert's to re-adopt her.
But something stopped the words on her lips. She could not herself have explained why she refrained from speaking, unless it were that weary, fretful expression of Mrs. Chester's face. So, instead of bestowing confidences, she merely said: