"That's all right. I'm glad you feel that way, because I need your help badly. I believe it's going to be a crop year anyway, because the snow when it does melt is bound to mean all sorts of moisture for the land. Meanwhile, we can do a bit of fencing. Mine need repairing badly, and so do parts of Cyril's. We've got to cross fence between his pasture land and where the crop is to go in. He's got quite a few head of horses and cattle running loose, I see, and they've got to be driven off the grain land. I'm going out after a couple of heavy horses of his I saw the other day on his land. I think I can corral them, and they'll come in first rate for the plow."
"Oh, Angel, let me go. I understand horses better'n you do. It's awful hard to drive them when they've been loose like that all winter. So let me go along."
"You'll stay right here. Look here, now, I'm going to run things here, and you do as you're told."
"Well, don't forget to take a halter, will you, and Angel, you want to keep away from their hind feet—even if you are on horse. Sometimes they kick right out. Dad was lamed that way, drivin' in wild horses. Got kicked while on horse-back, right in the shin. My, it was awful!"
"I'm all right. Don't you worry about me," said Angella. "Mind the baby while I'm gone, and look here, if he cries, there's barley gruel in that bottle. Heat it by standing it in hot water—but don't let it get too hot. I think he'll be all right till I get back."
Nettie did a curious thing that day when Angella had left her alone. She went over to the rough cot that Angella had made out of a grocery box for the baby, and for a long time she stood looking down at the little sleeper. Almost unconsciously her hand touched her baby's tiny hand that clung at once to her finger and at that warm contact a flood of emotion overwhelmed Nettie's heart. It was as if tentacles had reached out and fastened upon her very soul; the little curled up fist seemed to scorch her with its mute reproach and appeal for her affection. Nettie pulled her hand fiercely away, and fled into the adjoining room, her breath coming and going tumultuously.
"I don't want to love him," she cried. "I don't want to. He's his, and I wisht I'd died before I—I—come to this."
Seeking some physical outlet for her pent-up feelings she looked about her, and saw a pair of scissors on Angella's dressing table. A moment later she found herself slashing into her long hair. The heavy blonde braids dropped to the floor with a soft thud. Nettie, shorn of her beautiful hair, was not, however, disfigured, in fact her childlike, simple beauty seemed almost lovelier for the cropped head, accentuating her extreme youth. But when Angella coming in stopped on the threshold and stared at her condemningly, Nettie knew that she had done wrong.
"Nettie Day, what you have done is an act of sheer vandalism," said the woman, who herself had cut her own hair to the scalp.
"Oh, Angel, I wanted to be like you. I didn't want no more to be like a woman——"