g, my girls, neither of 'em."

"I am sure of that," she assented quickly. "They are the hardest
workers I ever saw: I wonder that they never rest, and tell them so."

"Time enough for resting when all's done," said the old lady briskly.
"That was my mother's word before me and I've handed it down to Ann and
Hester."

"But then, at that rate, none of us would ever rest, would we?" she
protested humourously.

"This side o' green grave?" the old lady shot out. "Maybe so. But
podding peas is a kind of rest--after picking 'em!"

"And have you really picked all these--and in the sun, too?" she said,
surprised. "I trust not for me--I could get along perfectly..."

The old lady jumped briskly after her loaves, tapped the bottoms
knowingly, then stood each one on its inverted pan in a fragrant row on
the dresser.

"Peas or beans or corn--it makes no odds, my dear," she cried
cheerfully. "It's all to be done, one way or another, you see."

An inspiration came to the idler by the window, and before she had
quite caught at the humour of it, she spoke.

"Why should you get my breakfast--for I am sure you are going to?" she
said. "Why shouldn't I--if you think I could--for I don't like to sit
here and have you do it all!"

"Why not, indeed?" the old woman replied, with a shrewd smile at her.
"Hester judged you might offer, and left the tray ready set."

"Hester judged?" she repeated wonderingly. "Why, how could she,
possibly? How could she know I would come down, even?"

"She judged so," the mother nodded imperturbably. "The kettle's on the
boil, now, and I've two of the rusks you relished yesterday on the
pantry shelf. Just dip 'em in that bowl of milk in the window and slip
'em in the oven--it makes a tasty crust. She keeps some chocolate
grated in a little blue dish in the corner and the butter's in a crock
in the well. The brown hen will show you her own egg, I'll warrant
that."

Amused, she followed all these directions, and poured herself a cup of
steaming chocolate, the first meal of her own preparing since childish
banquets filched from an indulgent cook. And then, the breakfast over,
she would have left the kitchen, empty just then, for the mistress of
it had pottered out on one of her endless little errands, had not a
sudden thought sent a flush to her forehead, so that she turned
abruptly at the threshold and walking swiftly to the water spigot, sent
a stream into a tiny brass-bound tub she too