Thar's all Simon's work to be done, an' my own too. Huldy, my
gal!" he held out his honest brown hand to Hildegarde, who clasped it
affectionately in both of hers, "ye'll stay by Marm Lucy and chirk her
up a bit. 'T'll be a hard day for her, an' she hasn't no gal of her own
now to do for her. But ye've grown to be almost a daughter to us, Huldy.
God bless ye, child!"
His voice faltered as he laid his other hand for a moment on the girl's
fair head; then, turning hastily away, he took up his battered straw hat
and went slowly out of the house, an older man, it might have been by
ten years, than he had been the night before.
Right daughterly did Hilda show herself that day, and Faith herself
could hardly have been more tender and helpful. Feeling intuitively that
work was the best balm for a sore heart, she begged for Nurse Lucy's
help and advice in one and another item of household routine. Then she
bethought her of the churning, and felt that if this thing was to
befall, it could not have better befallen than on a Tuesday, when the
great blue churn stood ready in the dairy, and the cream lay thick and
yellow in the shining pans.
"Well, that's a fact!" sighed Nurse Lucy. "If I hadn't forgotten my
butter in all this trouble! And it must be made, sorrow or smiles, as
the old saying is. Come with me, Hilda dear, if you will. Your face is
the only bright thing I can see this sad day."
[Illustration: "EACH TOOK A SKIMMER AND SET EARNESTLY TO WORK.
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