“Why do you do all this work?” he went on calmly. “Why don’t you send all the milk to the Government creamery? It’ll save labour, and you get market price for the produce.”
“Because Government creameries are for those who can’t afford to send their stuff to market, or make their cheese on their farms.”
“Ah, that’s the worst of being large farmers, it entails so much work. By Jove! Iredale doesn’t work like we ‘moss-backs’ have to, and he’s made a fortune. I guess if there were a Mrs. George Iredale she’d have a bully time. No cheese- or butter-making, eh, sis?” And, with a grin, Hervey turned on his heel, and, passing up the steps, walked away towards the barn.
Prudence waited until her brother had disappeared within the stables; then she locked up. As she turned from the door she heard her mother’s voice calling.
“Girl––girl, where are you?”
“Here I am, mother dear, at the creamery.”
Mrs. Malling trundled round the corner of the house.
“Prudence, there’s young Peter Furrer come over, and I haven’t time to stop and gossip with him. Like as not he don’t want to talk to a body like me, anyway. Just drop that skirt o’ yours, girl, and go and see him. A nice time o’ day to come a-courtin’. He’ll be a-follerin’ you to the grain fields when we’re harvesting.”
Prudence smiled.