"No, sir-nobody goes but baby. Your father's goin' to take a load of
wheat."
She was weak with the worry of it all when she had sent the older
children away to school, and the kitchen work was finished. She
went into the cold bedroom off the little sitting room and put on
her best dress. It had never been a good fit, and now she was
getting so thin it hung in wrinkled folds everywhere about the
shoulders and waist. She lay down on the bed a moment to ease
that dull pam in her back. She had a moment's distaste for going
out at all. The thought of sleep was more alluring. Then the
thought of the long, long day, and the sickening sameness of her
life, swept over her again, and she rose. and prepared the baby for
the journey.
It was but little after sunrise when Sam drove out into the road and
started for Belleplain. His wife sat perched upon the wheat sacks
behind him, holding the baby in her lap, a cotton quilt under her,
and a cotton horse blanket over her knees.
Sam was disposed to be very good-natured, and he talked back at
her occasionally, though she could only under-stand him when he
turned his face toward her. The baby stared out at the passing
fence posts and wiggled his hands out of his mittens at every
opportunity.
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