And the Equator and the North Pole are no nearer alike, so far as temperature is concerned, than those two "Um-hms." And between them she had others, expressing all degrees from frigid to semi-torrid.
Her "Um-hm" this time was somewhere along the northern edge of Labrador.
"It's a good morning for a walk," I said.
"Um-hm," repeated Dorinda, crossing over to Greenland, so to speak.
I opened the outside door.

The warm spring sunshine, pouring in, was a pleasant contrast and made me forget, for the moment, the glacier at my back.

Come to think of it, "glacier" isn't a good word; glaciers move slowly and that wasn't Dorinda's way.
"What are you going to do ?" I asked.
"Work," snapped Dorinda, unfurling the dust cloth.

"It's a good mornin' for that, too." I went out, turned the corner of the house and found Lute sound asleep on the wash bench behind the kitchen.

His full name was Luther Millard Filmore Rogers, and he was Dorinda's husband by law, and the burden which Providence, or hard luck, had ordered her to carry through this vale of tears.