It was growing dark as they went in, and the girl's face could not be seen.
"Well, Bert, are y' ready to help churn?"
"Yes, I guess so, if Ans'll milk."
"Oh, he'll milk; he jest loves to milk ol' Brindle when the flies are thick."
"Oh, you bet," said Ans, to make her laugh.
"Now, Flaxen," coughed Gearheart in beginning, "we've been discussin' your case, an' we've come to the conclusion that you ought to have the togs specified in the indictment" (this to take away the gravity of what was to follow); "but we're kind o' up a tree about just what we'd better do. The case is this. We've got to buy a horse to fill out our team, an' that's a-goin' to take about all we can rake an' scrape."
"We may have to git our groceries on tick. Now, if you could only pull through till after—" Anson broke in.
"It's purty tough, Flaxie, an' pap's awful sorry; but if you could jest pull through—"
It was a great blow to poor little Flaxen, and she broke down and cried unrestrainedly.
"I—I—don't see why I can't have things like the rest o' the girls." It was her first reproach, and it cut to the heart. Anson swore under his breath, and was stepping forward to say something when Gearheart restrained him.