As fair week approached, however, Stud announced his decision to remain at home. He declared that since Ulysses and Sarah were both laid up, Peter still thrashing, and Early Ann of necessity tied to the housework, he too would pass up the event of the year. He looked over the fence into the pen of Ulysses S. Grant and shook his head sadly. "We're just a couple of darned old fools!" "Oink," said the boar. "First fair you and me have missed in five years." The boar sighed gustily and lay down in his consoling bath of mud. Stud helped Gus give the bull and stallion their final beauty treatments, loaded the big bull into the wagon, and hitched the Percheron on behind. Early Ann gave the bow of blue ribbon on the stallion's tail a final twist and pat. Stud slipped Gus a twenty dollar bill. And off went the shining green wagon, its bright yellow wheels looking like huge sunflowers as they flashed in the sunlight. The tug links played a merry tune, the stallion whinnied gently, while Stud and Early Ann cheered the debonair farm hand on his way. "You better bring home some cups and ribbons," Early Ann called after the retreating cavalcade. "Trust me," shouted Gus, waving his derby. The girl and man stood as if entranced until they could no longer hear the rattle of the wagon, and until the dust had settled on the roadway. 4 Sarah continued to feel ailing despite pink powders, herb tea, and a highly advertised variety of vegetable compound. The work was thrown completely upon the shoulders of Early Ann. Stud would have been blind not to have noticed how well she bore up under this burden and how gladly she cared for Sarah. The girl could cook as fine a meal as he had ever tasted, and be as gay and fresh after hours over the cook stove as when she came clicking down the stairs with the chamber pots at four in the morning. She never asked Stud to kill chickens for her. She went to the chicken house herself, chased down a pair of plump friers, and chopped off their heads without more ado. These she scalded, plucked, singed, drew, washed in cold well water, rolled in egg and flour, and fried to a crisp golden brown. It made Stud's mouth fairly water to think of those chicken dinners: hot biscuits, mashed potatoes, lots of chicken gravy, coffee with Jersey cream, and hot mince pie for dessert. Such roasts, fries and stews! Such homemade bread, dumplings, pies and cakes! Her cooking was better than hotel dinners, Stud averred. There was a tang to everything she cooked and everything she did. Stud had never before been completely aware of the work a woman must do around a farm. He had rather thought that Sarah was having the best of the bargain all these years. Now, perversely, he was conscious of every task a farm-wife must perform.