Ma nodded and beamed through her glasses. Seth smiled in his slow fashion.
“An’ I guess I ain’t bustin’ fer you to hoe p’taters neither,” he said.
For a moment Mrs. Rickards looked about her helplessly; she hardly knew what to say. Then, at last, she, too, joined in the spirit which pervaded the party.
“Well, you are the strangest creature—but there, I said you were a little savage, and so did Mr. Seth.”
CHAPTER XXV
IN WHICH THE UNDERCURRENT BELIES THE SUPERFICIAL CALM
THE snow is gone, and the earth is passing through a process of airing. The sun licks up the moisture like some creature possessed of an unquenchable thirst. Wherever it is sufficiently dry the settlers are already at work seeding. Some are even breaking virgin soil, or turning over old ploughing. There is an atmosphere of leisurely industry about the plains. Even in these unsettled regions work goes forward with precision. The farmer’s life is one of routine with which he permits nothing to interfere. He lives by the fruits of the earth which ripen in due season. If fortune favors him he reaps the harvest. Whatever his lot he must accept it. The elements rule his life. The Indians may or may not disorganize the process.
The folk on White River Farm are in no way behind their neighbors. Seth’s returning strength permits him to take his share in the work, and thus Rube finds his burden lightened. But only partially, for Seth has much else to do, or seems to have, for he has many comings and goings which take up time.