Although Mrs. Robinson might be ignorant and crude, Harry gratefully admitted that she was kind-hearted to drive her home at that time of day. Hearing the rumble of wheels and the voice of her hostess giving swift and numerous orders, she went to the door and looked out. The "rig," as Mrs. Robinson had called it, was a light, mud-spattered mountain wagon, drawn by a team of half-broken ponies that laid their ears back and showed the whites of their eyes alarmingly. Mrs. Robinson sat in the front seat, with one foot on the brake. "Oughtn't the baby to have something more on?" asked Harry, glancing at the child's bare feet and gingham slip. "How about! Vashti," Mrs. Robinson called to the big-boned girl of twelve who watched them from the doorstep, "you fetch ma's shawl off the bed. And remember now, the beans is all cooked; there's pie, and your dad likes plenty of lard in his hot bread. And be sure to get them young ones to bed early, or I'll warm their jackets for 'em when I get back." As they drove out of the gate, Mrs. Robinson left an ever louder stream of directions flowing behind her, until a drop in the road hid the house from sight. Then she sighed abruptly and became silent. "It's very kind of you to drive me home," began Harry. "I appreciate it immensely; but what will your husband think?" "Oh, he won't care. He can do for hisself as good as any woman. Men folks in this country most always learn to housekeep when they're bachin' it. Why, we were married when I was fifteen, and came out here from Nebrasky, and there wasn't another woman in twenty miles to turn to for help. But Robinson, he could show me hisself!" "At fifteen!" exclaimed Harry. "Why, you were just a child! Weren't you lonely?" "I guess not! There was too much to do. I was likely to be called on any day to finish seedin', or hayin', or help butcher, or what not, so be he was short-handed." "But now, with all your little children to take care of," Harry began, but she stopped short. She had been watching the little cayuse ponies, divided between fear of their suddenly running away and admiration of the cool steadiness with which Mrs. Robinson held them in check; but as they went down the bank of a creek that had been dug out deep by the spring freshet, the woman's foot slipped from the brake and the wagon rolled upon the ponies' heels. Mrs. Robinson pulled up hard on the reins, but the ponies plunged, clattered across the shallow ford, and, with their ears back, dashed up the opposite bank. "Now, you ornery varmints! Quit it! Quit it! Yes, you will, too! Whoa, you! If I don't beat the buttons off you for that!" Pouring a vivid flood of language upon the ponies, Mrs. Robinson threw the brake and sawed sharply at their mouths. Suddenly there was a jerk and a snap; the cheek strap of the off horse's bridle swung loose.