“Well, Janey,” he said, with an effort at briskness, “ye kin go ahead with your bonfire, now. I guess I’ve got some old bar’ls for ye over’n the cow-barn.” But having said this, he turned abruptly and followed his wife into the little chamber off the living-room. CHAPTER IX--ESTHER’S VISIT The next day, Saturday, was my birthday. I celebrated it by a heavy cold, with a bursting headache, and chills chasing each other down my back. I went out to the cow-barn with the two men before daylight, as usual, but felt so bad that I had to come back to the house before milking was half over. The moment M’rye saw me, I was ordered on to the sick-list. The Beech homestead was a good place to be sick in. Both M’rye and Janey had a talent in the way of fixing up tasty little dishes for invalids, and otherwise ministering to their comfort, which year after year went a-begging, simply because all the men-folk kept so well. Therefore, when the rare opportunity did arrive, they made the most of it. I had my feet and legs put into a bucket of hot water, and wrapped round with burdock leaves. Janey prepared for my breakfast some soft toast--not the insipid and common milk-toast--but each golden-brown slice treated separately on a plate, first moistened with scalding water, then peppered, salted, and buttered, with a little cold milk on top of all. I ate this sumptuous breakfast at my leisure, ensconced in M’rye’s big cushioned rocking-chair, with my feet and legs, well tucked up in a blanket-shawl, stretched out on another chair, comfortably near the stove. It was taken for granted that I had caught my cold out around the bonfire the previous evening--and this conviction threw a sort of patriotic glamour about my illness, at least in my own mind.