"In bed."
"Why don't you let her do them, mother?"
"She has not time, my son."
Rufus stood still and looked with a discontented face at the thin blue-veined fingers in which the coarse dirty roots were turning over and over.
"I've got a letter from my friend Haye to-day," Mr. Landholm said.
"What Haye is that?" said his wife.
"What Haye? —there's only one that I know of; my old friend Haye — you've heard me speak of him a hundred times. I used to know him long ago in Mannahatta when I lived at Pillicoddy; and we have been in the Legislature together, time and again."
"I remember now," said Mrs. Landholm paring her potatoes.
"What does he want?"
"What do you guess he wants?"
"Something from the farm, I suppose."