Joe asked Dad if he did n't think it was a splendid sight?
Dad did n't answer him--he did n't seem conversational that night.
We decided to put the fence up again.

Dan had sharpened the axe with a broken file, and he and Dad were about to start when Mother asked them what was to be done about flour?
She said she had shaken the bag to get enough to make scones for that morning's breakfast, and unless some was got somewhere there would be no bread for dinner.
Dad reflected, while Dan felt the edge on the axe with his thumb.
Dad said, "Won't Missus Dwyer let you have a dishful until we get some ?" "No," Mother answered; "I can't ask her until we send back what we owe them." Dad reflected again.

"The Andersons, then ?" he said.
Mother shook her head and asked what good there was it sending to them when they, only that morning, had sent to her for some?
"Well, we must do the best we can at present," Dad answered, "and I'll go to the store this evening and see what is to be done." Putting the fence up again in the hurry that Dad was in was the very devil! He felled the saplings--and such saplings!--TREES many of them were--while we, "all of a muck of sweat," dragged them into line.

Dad worked like a horse himself, and expected us to do the same.

"Never mind staring about you," he'd say, if he caught us looking at the sun to see if it were coming dinner-time--"there's no time to lose if we want to get the fence up and a crop in." Dan worked nearly as hard as Dad until he dropped the butt-end of a heavy sapling on his foot, which made him hop about on one leg and say that he was sick and tired of the dashed fence.