"Do what, mother?" Diana said gaily. "You mean, you wish Josiah would do something."
"I know what I mean," said Mrs. Starling, "and I commonly say it. That is, when I say anything. I don't wish anything about Josiah. I've given up wishin'. He's an unaccountable boy. There's no dependin' on him. And the thing is, he don't care. All he thinks on is his own victuals; and so long's he has 'em, he don't care whether the rest of the world turns round or no."
"I suppose it's the way with most people, mother; to care most for their own."
"But if I had hired myself to take care of other folks' things, I'd do it," said Mrs. Starling. "That ain't my way. Just see what I haven't done this morning already! and he's made out to eat his breakfast and fodder his cattle. I've been out to the barn and had a good look at the hay mow and calculated the grain in the bins; and seen to the pigs; and that was after I'd made my fire and ground my coffee and set the potatoes on to boil and got the table ready and the rooms swept out. Is that cream going to get churned to-day, Diana?"
"No, mother."
"It's old enough."
"It is not ready, though."
"It ought to be. I tell you what, Diana, you must set your cream pot in here o' nights; the dairy's too cold."
"Warm enough yet, mother. Makes better butter."
"You don't get nigh so much, though. That last buttermilk was all thick with floatin' bits of butter; and that's what I call wasteful."