He went into the creamery where his wife stood beside the separator, watching a cat lap up some spilled cream. “Your pa’s timid, Mazie,” he said. “I tell him I cal’late t’start under full steam. What do you say?” She laughed: “Pa’s got notions. He allus was a mite slow. I guess you know best, Elmer.” “We all gotta work,” he said. “That means Eris, too.” “She allus helps me,” remarked Mazie, simply. “I dunno what she does,” grunted Odell; “--sets a hen or two, fools around the incubators, digs up a spoonful of scratch-feed--what does she do, anyhow?” “The child mends and irons----” “When she ain’t readin’ or tendin’ her flowers or moonin’ ’round the woods ’n’fields,” retorted Odell. “Eris reckons she’s too fine a lady for farm folk, I guess. I want her to keep busy. And that’s that.” “Somebody’s got to tend the flowers,” remonstrated Mazie. “You don’t want we should have no posy bed, Elmer--like poor folks down to the Holler, do you?” “I can git along ’n’eat dinner without posies. Why don’t Erie read the _Grange Journal_? Oh, no; it’s fancy novels and highfalutin’ books she studies onto. And she’s allus cuttin’ out these here fashions into these here magazines with coloured pitchers outside. Did you ever see Eris studyin’ into a cook-book? Or a seed catalogue? Or the _Guernsey Cattle Magazine_? Or the _Breeder’s Guide_----” “You let her be,” said Mazie, good-naturedly. “The housework’s done and that’s all you need to know. She can cook and make a bed if she’s a mind to.” “Mind,” growled Odell, “--what’s a girl want of a mind? All she uses it for is to plan how to play-act on the stage or gallivant into moving pitchers. All she thinks about is how to git to New York to hunt up some fancy job so she can paint her face and dance in bare legs----” “Now, Elmer, Eris is too smart to act foolish; and she’s educated real well. You liked to see her act in school, and you thought she danced nicely. She’s only a child yet----” “She’s twenty!” “She’s no more’n sixteen in her way of thinking, Elmer. She’s a good girl.” “I didn’t say she’s bad. But she’s twenty, and she ought to be more help to us. And she ought to quit readin’ and moonin’ and dreamin’ and lazin’----” “You quit _your_ lazin’, too,” laughed Mazie, setting a pan of cream in the ice chest. “Why don’t you go down to the barn and ring that new herd-bull? You can’t get him into the paddock without a staff any more. And if you don’t watch out Whitewater Chieftain will hurt somebody.... ’N’I’ll be a widow.” As Odell went out the dairy door, preoccupied with the ticklish job before him, he met Eris with her arms full of new kittens. “Mitzi’s,” she explained, “aren’t they too cunning, daddy? I hope they’re not to be drowned.” “I ain’t runnin’ a cat-farm,” remarked Odell. “Did you mend my canvas jacket?” “Yes; it’s on your bed.” “Did you coop them broody hens? I bet you didn’t.” “Yes. There are seventeen in three coops.” “Housework done?” “Yes.”