The next morning was naturally a most busy one at Rainbow Hill. Monday morning is apt to be a busy time anywhere, but Mrs. Hildreth, who would sooner have dreamed of starting the day without breakfast than starting the week without washing, saw to it that not one idle moment was unaccounted for as far as her jurisdiction extended. She rose at four, instead of the customary five, and Warren and Richard, alternating, helped her with filling and emptying the tubs and lifting the heavy boiler. Mrs. Hildreth scorned the modern washing machine and did her clothes in the old-fashioned laborious way.
Winnie had a woman to help her wash—a Mrs. Pritchard who cheerfully walked two miles each way—but the temptation to bleach the household linens on the lawn in the hot sunshine appealed powerfully to the housewifely instincts of Winnie, and Mrs. Willis declared that she washed everything she came to, regardless of its state of cleanliness. Certainly one would have thought that her normal wash of light summer dresses for three girls and two women would have contented Winnie, but the combination of soft water, soap, floods of sunshine and the washing machine left by Mrs. Hammond proved well nigh irresistible to Winnie. She may have been said to fairly revel in wash.
"Let's go wading, Rosemary," coaxed Shirley this Monday morning, soon after breakfast.
"I can't—not now," said Rosemary. "I want to help Mother first and then I must practise. Ask Sarah."
"Sarah's cross," complained Shirley. "She brought the cat in from the barn and put her to sleep in the clothes basket and Winnie tipped her out."
"Yes, that would make Sarah cross," agreed Rosemary. "Where is she now?"
"I don't know," said Shirley and her tone indicated that she didn't particularly care. "Come on and let's go wading, Rosemary."
"Rosemary is going to make the beds for Mother," interposed Mrs. Willis. "Winnie is so busy this morning she hasn't time. Don't you want to pick up the papers on the porch, Shirley and put the cushions straight in the swing and bring in some fresh flowers for the glass jar? Then, when you have it all in order, I'll come out there and sit and make a new dress for your doll."
"Oh, yes, that will be nice!" beamed Shirley, trotting off busily.
In all that hive of industry, represented by the farm, Sarah was the one idle figure. She sat on the fence commanding a view of the pig pen—not the pleasantest prospect Rainbow Hill afforded, it must be confessed—and dangled her feet moodily. She was still resentful at the summary ejection of the barn cat from the clothes basket and, in addition, had been worsted in an argument with Warren whose turn it was to cultivate the corn. Sarah had wished to ride on the cultivator, preferably in the driver's seat or, failing that, on the horse's back. Warren had endeavored to dissuade her as tactfully as possible but finding that tact made small impression on Sarah, had been obliged to come out with a flat refusal.