“I don’t care,” she said to herself. “It winna be my fault. The bairns should have been at home. It’s their work, not mine, to mind the cows. Oh, I wist Effie was at home! There’s nothing quite so bad where she is here. But I’ll see to-night if my prayer is heard; that will be something; and then I’ll begin again, and try to be good, in spite of Aunt Elsie.”
Chapter Two.
The colporteur.
The cows had not passed the gate. Somebody had opened it for them, and they were now standing or lying in the yard, in the very perfection of animal enjoyment. The girls were not at home to milk them, however. Christie had heard her father’s voice calling to them in the lower field, and she knew it would be full half an hour, and quite dark, before they could be at home. So, with a sigh, she took the stool and the milk-pails from a bench near the door, and went to the yard to her task.
If her short-sighted eyes had seen the long, low wagon that stood at the end of the house, curiosity would have tempted her to go back to see who might be there. If she had known that in that wagon her sister Effie had ridden home a day sooner than she was expected, she would not have seated herself so quietly to her milking.
(Note: In America, any light four-wheeled vehicle is called a wagon.)
Christie was not lazy, though her aunt sometimes accused her of being so. When her heart was in her work, she could do it quickly and well; and her strength failed her always before her patience was exhausted.
She knew she must finish the milking alone now, and she set to it with a will. In a surprisingly short time she was standing between two foaming milk-pails at the gate. To carry them both at once was almost, though not quite, beyond her strength; and as she stood for a moment hesitating whether she would try it, or go with one and return for the other, the matter was decided for her.