Sarah bit her lip, her own brief anger forgotten. "Now, Tom," she protested.
"You ain't going to talk me out of it this time."
"I—I was aiming to whitewash the ceiling, Pa," said Abe. "Ma said it needed a fresh coat."
Sarah looked relieved. "That is exactly what he can do. Whitewash the ceiling."
"He can after I've given him a licking."
Sarah put out her hand. "Sit down, Tom, and finish your 'taters before they get cold. I figure it this way. Before Abe starts reading that new book, he can whitewash the ceiling. The walls, too. That ought to learn him not to cut up any more didos."
Sarah pulled down her mouth, trying to look stern. Tom sat down and started to eat his potato.
"You're a good one, Sairy," he chuckled. "You sure know how to get work out of him."
Abe looked at her gratefully. At the same time he was disappointed. He had been thinking about that book all afternoon.
The next morning Sarah shooed everyone out of the cabin. Abe was down by the horse trough, mixing the whitewash in a big tub. By the time he returned, she had a bucket of hot water and a gourdful of soft soap ready. After washing the inside of the cabin he got busy with the whitewash. First he did the walls. Then he did the rafters and the ceiling. He cocked his head, gazing at the muddy footprints.