Again she stood bewildered. “What do they dig with? I think I’ll ask Jimmy.” She ran to the house to secure the valuable information that would enable her to continue her work.
Mrs. James was assisting Rachel with the dinner and both women paused long enough to explain that most post-holes were made with a boring machine that came for that very purpose. But, as there was no post-hole digger at Green Hill Farm, the next best plan was to use muscles to bore the holes. A pick and spade were the necessary tools to handle.
Janet frowned but she was determined to succeed or die. So she took the pick and spade from the cellar and carried them to the barn yard. She dug and shoveled steadily for an hour, and then sat up on the crate and moaned with the ache in her back and arms.
“I wish to goodness I hadn’t listened to Nat’s sorcery! If she only had hinted at one iota of the labor necessary to start a stock farm, this scout would never have been the one to break a back working at it!” complained Janet, very carefully wiggling her spine to dispossess a few of the cramps.
While she tried to straighten out her muscles Farmer Ames drove in at the side gate and shouted to Rachel. “I got the fowl for them gals. Where shall I leave ’em?”
Janet was eager to run to the house to greet her new stock members but she could barely move. So she contented herself with watching Rachel wave her arms to direct the farmer toward the barn yard.
When the team stopped near the chicken yard, Farmer Ames pulled the feed bags from the wagon and carried them to the “run.” Janet had managed to exercise her muscles sufficiently, by this time, to be able to get over and welcome the farmer. He looked at her and then at the poor enclosure for the chickens.
“You don’t mean to keep chickens in that broken-down yard, do you?” asked he.
“Oh, no! I’m going to build a fine fence and new coops immediately. But I have to look after the pigs first, you know. I have been working like mad all morning to finish their new sty.”
“You don’t say you ain’t got them pigs outen that crate yet? By the great horned spoon, gal, do you want to kill ’em?” gasped Farmer Ames.