"Why not, mother? when there is really nothing to do."
"I don't believe in no such minutes, for my part. They never come to me. Look at what I've done to-day, now. There was first the lighting the fire and getting breakfast. Then I washed up, and righted the kitchen and set on the dinner. Then I churned and brought the butter and worked that. Then there was the dairy things. Then I've been in the garden and picked four quarts of ifs-and-ons for pickles; got 'em all down in brine, too. Then I made out my bread, and made biscuits for tea, and got dinner, and eat it, and cleared it away, and boiled a ham."
"Not since dinner, mother?"
"Took it out, and that; and got all my pots and kettles put away; and picked over all that lot o' berries, I think I'd make preserves of 'em, Diana; when folks come to sewing meeting for the missionaries they needn't have all creation to eat, seems to me. They don't sew no better for it. I believe in fasting, once in a while."
"What for?"
"What for? Why, to keep down people's stomach; take off a slice of their pride."
"Mother! do you think eating and people's pride have anything to do with each other?"
"I guess I do! I tell you, fasting is as good as whipping to take down a child's stomach; let 'em get real thin and empty, and they'll come down and be as meek as Moses. Folks ain't different from children."
"You never tried that with me, mother," said Diana, half laughing.
"Your father always let you have your own way. I could ha' managed you, I guess; but your father and you was too much at once. Come, Diana do—get up and go off and get dressed, or something."