“Yes, I do considerable of the work myself. You see it doesn’t come natural to Corny dear. He’s more a child than Saint Augustine, even, in some things.”
“Why, his brother said—Shucks!”
“What did his brother say, please?”
“Oh! nothin’. I didn’t mean——”
Lucetta laughed in her gentle, patient way:
“Of course you didn’t mean and you don’t need. I know Wicky Stillwell and his wife, Lizzie, from A to Izzard. Good people, the best in the world and the smartest. But they can’t see a fault in Corny—not that I can either, understand! Only they don’t see why it is our farm—it’s his, really—doesn’t pay better. But we can’t afford to hire and a woman’s not so strong as a man. Yet we’re happy. Just as happy as the days are long and we’ve never starved yet. It’s my faith that there’s bread in the world enough for every mouth which needs it. God wouldn’t be a Father and not so order it. That’s one compensation of this life of mine, that you fancied might be lonely. I can’t go to church, I’m too far away, so I just pretend that all this—around me—is one church and that He’s in it all the time. I named each of the children after some holy person and I hope each will grow like his namesake—in time.”
“Did you plant this celery?”
“Yes. There was a man rode around, distributing government seeds, came from some ‘Farmer’s Institute,’ I reckon, and he gave them. Corny said it was hardly worth while, celery’s such a trouble; but I did it on the sly. Corny loves celery, just loves it; when he’s been lucky with his gun and brings home some game. Then! Won’t it be grand to have it for a surprise? Makes me think, it ought to be hoed right now. I’ll fetch the hoe.”
“You’ll do nothin’ of the sort while I’m loafin’ around, idle. Gerry doesn’t need me only now and again and I’m pinin’ for a job. You sit an’ rest, or teach the kids. Let me just work for my board. If you’ll tell me where the hoe is, please?”