Then it was time to attend to old crumple-horn, and when Jack came into the kitchen again supper was on the table.
In view of the fact that he had had such a long tramp, the little woman insisted on his retiring very early, and the Book was opened as soon as the supper-table had been cleared.
On this day Aunt Nancy's evening devotions occupied an unusually long time, and she prayed fervently to be forgiven for her sin of the forenoon,—a fact which caused Jack to say when she had finished,—
"It don't seem to me as if you could ever do anything wicked, Aunt Nancy, an' there ain't any need of fussing about what you said to Farmer Pratt, for God knows jest how good you are."
"You mustn't talk like that, Jack dear. There are very many times when I give way to anger or impatience, and there can be no question but that I as much as told a lie when that man was here."
Jack would have protested that no wrong had been done, but she prevented further conversation by kissing him on both cheeks as she said, "Good night."
On the following morning, Aunt Nancy's "man of all work" took good care she should not be the first one awake.
He arose as the rays of the coming sun were glinting the eastern sky, and when the little woman entered the kitchen the fire had been built, the floor swept, and the morning's milk in the pail ready for straining.
Her surprise at what he had done was sufficient reward for Jack, and he resolved that she should never have an opportunity to do such work while he was sleeping.
"I begin to feel quite like a visitor," the little woman said with a cheery laugh as she bustled around in her sparrow-like fashion, preparing breakfast. "This is the first time in a great many years that the fire has been made and the milking done before I got up."