“Everything certainly stayed clean with all of the guests out of doors. I have never had an entertainment with so little to do when it was over,” said Mrs. Brown. “It was a good day for the servants to go away, with the house in such good order and enough left-overs from the wedding supper for three lone women to feed on for several meals. I wonder how your Aunt Clay is getting on with her harvesting? She is so headstrong not to borrow my cutting machine! Why does she insist that flour made from wheat cut with a scythe makes better bread than that cut with modern machinery?” “She declared yesterday, mother, that she was not going to feed her hands until they got through mowing, if it took them until nightfall. She says you spoil all darkeys that come near you, and she is going to show them who is boss on her place. Kent infuriated her by telling her she would get herself into trouble if she did not look out; that her wheat was already overripe, and if she attempted to make her hands work over dinner hour they would leave it half cut; but advice to Aunt Clay always sends her in the opposite direction.” “I wish I had not let Sue go over there. Most of those harvesters are strangers from another county, and they might do something desperate if Sarah antagonized them.” “Don’t worry, mother, Cyrus Clay is over there, and he is sure to take good care of Sue.” The morning was spent with much gay talk as they packed the presents. Mrs. Brown was the kind of woman who could enter into the feelings of young people. She seemed to be of their generation and was never shocked or astonished when in their talk she realized that things had changed since her day. She usually made the best of it and put it down to “progress” of some sort. They worked faithfully, and by twelve o’clock had tied up and labeled the last parcel to go in the last barrel. “Come on, girls, let’s have an early lunch and then we can have our much needed and hard-earned rest. A good nap all around will make us feel like ourselves again.” How good that lunch did taste! Molly had been so excited that she could not swallow food the evening before, and Mrs. Brown had been so busy looking after guests that she had forgotten to eat. Judy was the only one who had done justice to the supper, but, having tested it, she was more than willing to try the chicken salad again. “Never mind washing the dishes; put them in a dish-pan for Ca’line. Get into your kimonos and take a good nap. I am sick for sleep,” yawned Mrs. Brown.