"You ain't going out again, are you, Dorinda?" Nathan asked anxiously, while he watched her preparations. "Yes, we had supper early so Fluvanna and Mary Joe could help with the milking, but I'd better go out and see what they are doing. There's a lot to do in the dairy and the darkeys are still a little afraid of the new machinery." Nathan laughed good-humouredly. "I might as well help you. Dairy work is the sort that won't keep." "No, it won't wait. The butter has to be packed for the early train." "That means you'll be up before daybreak?" She nodded impatiently. "Well, you're used to that. Don't you breakfast by candlelight in winter?" "Yes, I'm used to it. I'll come out now and help." "I don't want you. There's plenty of work for you in the fields, but I don't want you meddling in my dairy." For the first time she understood what work had meant in her mother's life; the flight of the mind from thought into action. To have Nathan hanging round her in the dairy was the last thing, she said to herself, that she had anticipated in marriage. "Of course, I didn't mean to interfere with you." He fell back into the house, and with a sigh of relief she fled out to the new cow-barn, where the last milkers still lingered and chatted over the wedding. As she passed into the heavy atmosphere and inhaled the pasture-scented breath of the cows, she felt that a soothing vapour had blown over her nerves. "I declar, Miss Dorindy, you mought jes' ez well not be mah'ed at all," Nimrod remarked dolefully. "Well, I won't let it interfere with my work. No man is going to do that." Mary Joe bridled and giggled; for, being an engaging mulatto girl, she knew all that could be told of the interference of men. "Naw'm, dat dey ain't, nor breck yo' heart needer. Hit's a pity we ain't all ez strong-minded ez you is." Dorinda laughed. "Break my heart? I should think not," she replied. And she meant what she said while she was saying it. One man had ruined her life; but no other man should interfere with it. She was encased in wounded pride as in defensive armour. One of the other milkers, a big black woman named Saphira, smiled approvingly. "Hi! Dat's moughty sassy, Miss Dorindy," she exclaimed, "but hit ain't natur!" After the milkers had gone home, Dorinda went into the dairy with Fluvanna and Mary Joe and worked until nearly midnight. Usually, she had finished by nine o'clock, at the latest, but to-night there were a dozen extra tasks for her willing hands to perform. As the hours went on she became so particular and so sharply critical that the two coloured women were driven to tears. "Ef'n you ax me, hit's a good thing she cyarn't git mah'd but oncet," muttered Mary Joe, as she was leaving.