Soon after, I found Rhoda, with her dress tidily pinned out of harm's way, standing at a barrel, and poking vigorously with a stick longer than herself.
"What now, Rhoda! what are you doing there?"
"Come here and look at the soap, Miss Kate. I made it every bit myself; ain't it going to be beautiful?"
"Why do you care to do such things, Rhoda?"
"I'll tell you," in a low voice; "perhaps when Joe comes home, some time he'll buy himself a little place and let me keep house for him; then I shall want to know how to do everything."
"Rhoda, I believe you can do everything already."
"No, I can't wring," looking piteously from one little hand to the other. "I can iron cute, but I can't wring. Dorothy says that is one thing I shall have to give up, unless I can make my hands grow. Do you suppose I could?"
"No; you must make Joe buy you a wringer. Can you make butter?"
"O yes, when the churning isn't large. Likely Joe won't keep more than one cow."
I looked at the eager little thing, wondering if her hope would ever be realized. She divined my thought, and glanced at me wistfully. "You think this is a dream; you think I shall wake up.