“There!” cried Shep. “That means thee is to let Luke Jordan finish the sheep-washing. Thee'd better have done it in the first place. We shouldn't have the old ewe to pick if thee had.”
Dorothy was dimpling at the idea of Luke Jordan in the character of an instrument of heavenly protection. She had not regarded him in that light, it must be confessed, but had rejected him with scorn.
“He may, if he wants to,” she said; “but you boys shall drive them over. I'll have nothing to do with it.”
“And shear them too, Dorothy? He asked to shear them long ago.”
“Well, let him shear them and keep the wool too.”
“I wouldn't say that, Dorothy,” said Rachel Barton. “We need the wool, and it seems as if over-payment might not be quite honest, either.”
“Oh, mother, mother! What a mother thee is!” cried Dorothy laughing and rumpling Rachel's cap-strings in a tumultuous embrace.
“She's a great deal too good for thee, Dorothy Barton.”
“She's too good for all of us. How did thee ever come to have such a graceless set of children, mother?”
“I'm very well satisfied,” said Rachel. “But now do be quiet and let's finish the letter. We must get to bed some time to-night!”