"I 'druther have Sim Burns work for me one day than some men three.

He's a linger." He worked with unusual speed this morning, and ended by milking all the cows himself as a sort of savage penance for his misdeeds the previous evening, muttering in self-defense: "Seems 's if ever' cussid thing piles on to me at once.

That corn, the road-tax, and hayin' comin' on, and now _she_ gits her back up"---- When he went back to the well he sloshed himself thoroughly in the horse-trough and went to the house.

He found breakfast ready, but his wife was not in sight.

The older children were clamoring around the uninviting breakfast table, spread with cheap ware and with boiled potatoes and fried salt pork as the principal dishes.
"Where's y'r ma ?" he asked, with a threatening note in his voice, as he sat down by the table.
"She's in the bedroom." He rose and pushed open the door.