She put the food on the table, cutting generous slices from the ham and serving the children first because Joe wanted it that way. There was milk for them, coffee for Joe and herself. Emma placed a heaping plate of fluffy biscuits beside the potato dish. Joe ate in silence, noticing the new gaiety in Emma's face and manner, and he thought that maybe now she was feeling better about the whole trip. He finished, leaned back in his chair, and sighed happily.
"I've got the six picked."
"Did you have any trouble?"
"Nope. Just had to look over a lot of mules. Got me six blacks, alike as six peas in a pod. Put 'em together in a little corral, and there won't be a prettier six-mule team in Missouri."
"Ma," Tad spoke up. "Pa says it's all right with him if I go into town tomorrow."
Emma said doubtfully, "I don't know—"
"He'll come to no harm," Joe assured her.
"Well, if your father thinks it's all right, you may go."
"Oh gee! Good!"
Emma put little Emma to bed and washed the dishes while Barbara took care of the other children. Barbara sat alone, dreaming, and for a little while Joe and Emma sat side by side before the dying fire. Their hands met, and they did not speak because speech was unnecessary. Joe was thinking of Oregon, of good land, free for the taking. And Emma was thinking how good it felt to be camped in this one place, and to know that they would be in the same place tomorrow evening again. The live coals cast a bright glow over them.