"
"Well, I hope he has left us a shoulder of bacon in the smokehouse,"
replied Betty, laughing. "You haven't eaten a mouthful for two days,
mamma."
"I don't feel that I have a right to eat, my dear," said Mrs. Ambler. "It
seems a useless extravagance when every little bit helps the army."
"Well, I can't support the army, but I mean to feed you," returned Betty
decisively, and she went out to ask Hosea if he had found a new hiding
place for the cattle. Except upon the rare mornings when Mr. Bill left his
fishing, the direction of the farm had fallen entirely upon Betty's
shoulders. Wilson, the overseer, was in the army, and Hosea had gradually
risen to take his place. "We must keep things up," the girl had insisted,
"don't let us go to rack and ruin--papa would have hated it so," and, with
the negro's aid, she had struggled to keep up the common tenor of the old
country life.
Rising at daybreak, she went each morning to overlook the milking of the
cows, hidden in their retreat among the hills; and as the sun rose higher,
she came back to start the field hands to the ploughing and the women to
the looms in one of the detached wings. Then there was the big storehouse
to go into, the rations of the servants to be drawn from their secret
corners, the meal to be measured, and the bacon to be sliced with the care
which fretted her lavish hands. After this there came the shucking of the
corn, a negro frolic even in war years, so long as there was any corn to
shuck, and lastly the counting of the full bags of grain before the heavy
wagon was sent to the little mill beside the river.
Pages:
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411