Afterward she had helped with the breakfast dishes and had taken her turn at the butter-making in the spring-house, thumping the heavy dasher up and down in the cedar churn until her arms ached.

But it was cool and pleasant down in the spring-house with the water trickling out in a ceaseless drip-drip on the cold stones.

She dabbled her fingers in the spring for a long time when the churning was done, wishing she had nothing to do but sit there and listen to the secrets it was trying to tell.

Surely it must have learned a great many on its underground way among the roots of things, and all else that lies hidden in the earth.
But she could not loiter long.

There was the dinner-table to set for the hungry farm-hands, and after the dinner was over more dishes to wash.
Then there were some towels to iron.