“Well, it’s early yet; guess I’ll smoke and read the Rural World awhile. There’s an article on hogs I wanted to read; it seems nice to have time to do what you please.”
After he had read a long time he at last knocked the ashes into his hand and stretched lazily.
He went down cellar and skimmed the milk, then he fed the calves, laughed at the way his wife had tried to fix the calf pen, went in and took off the table cloth and piled the dishes and empty milk things on the table.
“Guess I’ll wash up before I churn. No, I won’t, either. I’ll churn first; then I’ll clean up all at once. Oh, I’ve got a head on me. I ought to have been a woman.”
He brought from the cellar a large new pan of thick cream and set it on the table, then he went to scald the churn, but the fire was out and the dish water Mrs. Telfer had put on before breakfast was nearly cold.
“Blame it all, I’ve got to go to the barn for peach pits; not one in the basket. But I’ll kill the chicken while I’m out there and save an extra trip. If Jennie would only use some management about her work she’d have plenty of time.”
The large pit basket was soon filled, but the chicken was another proposition. Every time he selected one to catch it seemed to know it was a marked bird and would shy off to the edge of the flock. At last he had to run one down, and he wrung its neck with a great deal of satisfaction. As he entered the house the clock struck nine.
“Wheu! Where has the morning gone? I must get a move on me. Guess I’ll make the pie first so it can bake while the water is heating.”
He prepared the cherries. Then he made the pie; made it as well as a woman could. He had pushed the dishes back on the cluttered table to make room for his bread-board, and just as he had the crust nicely stamped down around the edge of his pie, with a fork, a tousled head of yellow curls appeared in the doorway, one chubby hand holding up a long, white nighty, the other rubbing a sleepy eye.
There was surprise on the baby face at the sight of his father. Papa meant fun for Toodles, and, running to him, he put up his little arms, saying, “Papa, high me; high Toodles, papa; high Toodles.” And his father, dusting the flour from his hands, tossed the baby to the ceiling again and again while the little fellow screamed with delight.