"Mother, I do not believe it is good for you."
"Good for me? And I have eat it all my life."
"But when you were well."
"I'm well enough. Put some of the gravy on, Diana. I'll never get my strength back on toasted chips."
The men came in, and Mrs. Starling held an animated dialogue with her factotum about farm affairs; while Diana sat behind her big coffee-pot—not the one she had used last night, and wondered if that was all a dream; more sadly, if she should ever dream again. And why her mother could not have staid in her room one day more. One day more!—
"He hain't begun to get his ploughing ahead," said Mrs. Starling, as the door closed on the delinquent.
"What, mother?" Diana asked, starting.
"Ploughing. You haven't kept things a-going, as I see," returned her mother. "Josiah's all behind, as usual. If I could be a man half the time, I could get on. He ought to have had the whole west field ploughed, while I've been sick."
"I don't know so much about it as you do, mother."
"I know you don't. You have too much readin' to do. There's a pane of glass broken in that window, Diana."