Seated beside her was her eldest daughter Kathleen, sewing; and stretched upon the floor lay Nora, frankly idle and half asleep, listening to the talk of the other two. Their talk turned upon the theme never long absent from their thought—that of ways and means.
“Tell you what, Mummie,” droned Nora, lazily extending her lithe young body to its utmost limits, “there is a simple way out of our never ending worries, namely, a man, a rich man, if handsome, so much the better, but rich he must be, for Kathleen. They say they are hanging round the Gateway City of the West in bunches. How about it, Kate?”
“My dear Nora,” gently chided her mother, “I wish you would not talk in that way. It is not quite nice. In my young days—”
“In your young days I know just exactly what happened, Mother. There was always a long queue of eligible young men dangling after the awfully lovely young Miss Meredith, and before she was well out of her teens the gallant young Gwynne carried her off.”
“We never talked about those things, my dear,” said her mother, shaking her head at her.
“You didn't need to, Mother.”
“Well, if it comes to that, Nora,” said her sister, “I don't think you need to, very much, either. You have only got to look at—”
“Halt!” cried Nora, springing to her feet. “But seriously, Mother dear, I think we can weather this winter right enough. Our food supply is practically visible. We have oats enough for man and beast, a couple of pigs to kill, a steer also, not to speak of chickens and ducks. We shall have some cattle to sell, and if our crops are good we ought to be able to pay off those notes. Oh, why will Dad buy machinery?”
“My dear,” said her mother with gentle reproach, “your father says machinery is cheaper than men and we really cannot do without machines.”
“That's all right, Mother. I'm not criticising father. He is a perfect dear and I am awfully glad he has got that Inspectorship.”