"Well, what's t' be done?" inquired Mrs. Gray, after a pause.
"Can't do much till Emmy gets here," said Sarah.
"Oh, I guess we can. Bill, you put out y'r team, we won't get away 'fore dinner."
The men drove off to the barn, leaving the women to pick their way on chips and strips of board laid in the mud, to the safety of the chip-pile, and thence to the kitchen, which was desolately littered with utensils.
Deacon assumed command with the same alertness, and with the same sunny gleam in his eye, with which he directed the funeral a few days before.
"Now, Bill, put out your team and help Jack and me pen them hogs. Women folks 'll git things ready here."
Emma came at last, driven by Harkey's brother and his hired man. They were both brawny fellows, rude and irritable, and the Deacon lifted his eyebrows and whistled when he saw them drive in with a lumber wagon.
The women swarmed out to greet Emma, who was a thin, irritable, feeble woman.
"Better late than never. Where's Ike?" inquired Mrs. Gray.
"Well, he—couldn't git away very well—he's got t' clean up some seed-oats," she answered nervously. After the men drove off, however, she added: "He thought he hadn't ought to come; he didn't want to cause no aidgewise feelin's, so he thought he hadn't better come—he'd just leave it to you, Deacon."