She put on
his coat and one of the boy's caps, and they went out to the
granary. The night was cold and clear.
"Don't look so much like snow as it did last night," said Sam. "It
may turn warm."
Laying out the sacks in the light of the lantern, they sorted out
those which were whole, and Sam climbed into the bin with a tin
pail in his hand, and the work began.
He was a sturdy fellow, and he worked desperately fast; the
shining tin pail dived deep into the cold wheat and dragged heavily
on the woman's tired hands as it came to the mouth of the sack,
and she trembled with fatigue, but held on and dragged the sacks
away when filled, and brought others, till at last Sam climbed out,
puffing and wheezing, to tie them up.
"I guess I'll load 'em in the morning," he said. "You needn't wait fer
me. I'll tie 'em up alone."
"Oh, I don't mind," she replied, feeling a little touched by his
unexpectedly easy acquiescence to her request. When they went
back to the house the moon had risen.
It had scarcely set when they were wakened by the crowing
roosters. The man rolled stiffly out of bed and began rattling at the
stove in the dark, cold kitchen.
His wife arose lamer and stiffer than usual and began twisting her
thin hair into a knot.
Pages:
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275