She had said this with a full heart, meaning all she proposed, but Mrs. Edwards was too just to accept service on such terms from a tried and faithful maid in her hour of deep affliction. Besides, she had a feeling that whilst Ales was there, well-trained and active, Rhys would have less excuse to bring Cate on to the hearth. Motives are always more or less complex.
The objections of Mrs. Edwards to Cate Griffith certainly were so. She would have conceded that 'the girl was good-looking, quick of foot, and ready of hand,' but she would have added also, 'ready with her tongue, and not quite straightforward in her ways.' Then, if she must be deposed by her eldest son's wife, she would have been better pleased had he looked higher, and gone courting where there would be a little money to come home with the bride. Cate would have none to bring.
With such feelings uppermost, she did not contemplate the temporary absence of Ales with too much favour, anxious as she was for some news of Evan and of her missing money.
Mr. Pryse had disorganised the work in field and house for the one day utterly. All was now behind-hand. She was herself upset, and a woman far on the wrong side of fifty does not recover her balance too readily. The sudden departure of Ales at this inopportune juncture was another upset.
But she would not confess her weakness to Rhys, lest he should make it an excuse for bringing Cate to her assistance.
Yesterday—Tuesday—had been baking-day. In their trouble the oven had been allowed to grow cool, and the dislodged terrier, who had shown a set of angry teeth at Mr. Pryse, had gone back to his repose underneath it. The barley and oatmeal for the bread lay in the brown crock, as Ales had left it, with the bit of last week's dough in a bowl ready to leaven it. Mixing, kneading, and baking was not light work, yet it must be done. Thoughtful Davy had again driven away the dog from his hole in the ash-pit, and lit the oven fire in readiness.
Then it was Wednesday, the churning and butter-making day. How was she to bake and churn the same morning? for both required attention, and when once the long-handled dasher was set in motion, up and down it must go until the butter came, however long that might be, or all would be spoiled.
Jane Edwards, persistent as her children, was at her wits' end, but she could not call Jonet in from the field, for they were late in digging up the potatoes, and if the frost came before they were in the pits, the whole crop would be ruined.
Then dinner had to be thought of. It was a relief to her, whilst kneading the mass of dough, to hear Davy scrubbing away with a ling besom at the dinner potatoes in the stone hollow under the spring. But she heard the quick voice of Rhys recalling him to his field-work, and the passive 'I be coming,' which marked his subjection to his elder brother.
At noon, when her family came in to dine, expecting the Wednesday's meal of buttermilk and potatoes—still new enough to be something of a treat—though there was a pleasant odour of baking bread in the kitchen, and there were anticipations of a dough dumpling in the pot, there were unmistakable grumblings and sour looks because there was only fresh milk to go with the esculent root. (The difference is only to be estimated by a trial on a farm where the buttermilk is fresh.)