A Daughter of the Land

Robert said good-bye and started back toward his car. Kate looked

after him as he reached the fence. A surge of pity for him swept

up in her heart. He seemed far from happy, and he surely was very

tired. Impulsive as always, she lifted her clear voice and

called: "Robert!"

He paused with his foot on a rail of the fence, and turned toward

her.

"Have you had any dinner?" she asked.

He seemed to be considering. "Come to think of it, I don't

believe I have," he said.

"I thought you looked neglected," said Kate. "Sonny across the

field is starting a shock ahead of me; I can't come, but go to the

kitchen -- the door is unlocked -- you'll find fried chicken and

some preserves and pickles in the pantry; the bread box is right

there, and the milk and butter are in the spring house."

He gave Kate one long look. "Thank you," he said and leaped the

fence. He stopped on the front walk and stood a minute, then he

turned and went around the house. She laughed aloud. She was

sending him to chicken perfectly cooked, barely cold, melon

preserves, pickled cucumbers, and bread like that which had for

years taken a County Fair prize each fall; butter yellow as the

goldenrod lining the fences, and cream stiff enough to stand

alone. Also, he would find neither germ nor mould in her pantry

and spring house, while it would be a new experience for him to

let him wait on himself. Kate husked away in high good humour,

but she quit an hour early to be on time to go to Agatha. She

explained this to Adam, when she told him that he would have to

milk alone, while she bathed and dressed herself and got supper.

When she began to dress, Kate examined her hair minutely, and

combed it with unusual care. If Robert was at Agatha's when she

got there, she would let him see that her hair was not sunburned

and ruined. To match the hair dressing, she reached back in her

closet and took down her second best white dress. She was hoping

that Agatha would be well enough to have a short visit. Kate

worked so steadily that she seldom saw any of her brothers and

sisters during the summer. In winter she spent a day with each of

them, if she could possibly manage. Anyway, Agatha would like to

see her appearing well, so she put on the plain snowy linen, and

carefully pinning a big apron over it, she went to the kitchen.

They always had a full dinner at noon and worked until dusk. Her

bath had made her later than she intended to be. Dusk was

deepening, evening chill was beginning to creep into the air. She

closed the door, fed Little Poll and rolled her into bed; set the

potatoes boiling, and began mixing the biscuit. She had them just

ready to roll when steam lifted the lid of the potato pot; with

the soft dough in her hand she took a step to right it. While it

was in her fingers, she peered into the pot.