ended. A reverent, sweet, happy committing
of all her affairs and her friends to God, in the presence and the
company of her household, was Mrs. Caxton's entrance, for her and them,
upon the work of the day. Breakfast was short and very early, which it
had to be if Eleanor wanted to see the operations of the dairy; and
then Mrs. Caxton and she went thither; and then first Eleanor began to
have a proper conception of the magnitude and complication of the
business her aunt presided over.

The dairies were of great extent, stretching along the ground floor of
the house, behind and beyond the covered gallery where she and her aunt
had held their first long conversation the day before. Tiled floors, as
neat as wax; oaken shelves, tubs, vats, baskets, cheese-hoops, presses;
all as neat and sweet as it was possible for anything to be, looked
like a confusion of affairs to Eleanor's eye. However, the real
business done that morning was sufficiently simple; and she found it
interesting enough to follow patiently every part of the process
through to the end. Several blue jackets were in attendance; some
Welsh, some English; each as diligent at her work as if she only had
the whole to do. And among them Eleanor noticed how admirably her aunt
played the mistress and acted the executive head. Quietly, simply, as
her words were spoken, they were nevertheless words that never failed
to be instantly obeyed; and the service that was rendered her was given
with what seemed the alacrity of affection, as well as the zeal of
duty. Eleanor stood by, watching, amused, intent; yet taking in a
silent lesson of character all the while, that touched her heart and
made her draw a deep breath now and then. The last thing visited was
the cheese house, the room where the cheeses were stored for ripening,
quite away from all the dairies. Here there was a forest of cheeses;
standing on end and lying on shelves, in various stages of maturity.

"Two a day!" said Eleanor looking at them. "That makes a wonderful many
in the course of the year."

"Except Sundays," said Mrs. Caxton. "No cheese is made on Sunday in my
dairy, nor any dairywork done, except milking the cows and setting the
milk."

"I meant except Sundays, of course."

"It is not 'of course' here," said Mrs. Caxton. "The common practice in
large dairy-farms is to do the same work on the seventh day that is
done all the six."

"But that is wrong, aunty, it seems to me."

"Wrong? Of cour