ly taller than Addison, but not so strong.
His complexion was darker and not so clear; and I imagine that he was
not so healthy. Once, I remember, when Dr. Green from the village was at
the house, he cast a professional eye on us three boys and remarked,
"That dark boy's blood isn't so good as that of the other two," a remark
that Halstead appears to have overheard.

None the less, he was strong enough to work when he chose, though he
complained constantly and shirked when he could.

On the Friday morning referred to, it had come Halstead's turn "to stand
up with old Mehitable," as Ellen used to say; and after the usual heated
argument he had set about it out in the kitchen in a particularly wrathy
mood. It was snowing outside. The old Squire had driven to the village;
and, after doing the barn chores, Addison had retired to the
sitting-room to cipher out two or three hard sums in complex fractions
while I had seized the opportunity to read a book of Indian stories that
Tom Edwards had lent me. After starting the churning, grandmother Ruth,
assisted by the girls, was putting in order the bedrooms upstairs.

Through a crack of the unlatched door that led to the kitchen, we heard
Halstead churning casually, muttering to himself and plumping the old
churn about the kitchen floor. Several times he had shouted for the
girls to come and help him hold it down; and presently we heard him
ordering Nell to bid grandmother Ruth pour hot milk into the churn.

"It's as cold as ice!" he cried. "It never will come in the world till
it is warmed up! Here I have churned for two hours, steady, and no signs
of the butter's coming--and it isn't my turn either!"

We had heard Halstead run on so much in that same strain, however, that
neither Addison nor I paid much attention to it.

Every few moments, however, he continued shouting for some one to come
and help; and presently, when grandma Ruth came downstairs for a moment
to see how matters were going on, we heard him pleading angrily with her
to pour in hot milk.

"Make the other boys come and help!" he cried after her as she was
calmly returning upstairs. "Make them come and churn a spell. Their
blood is better'n mine!"

"Oh, I guess your blood is good enough," the old lady replied, laughing.

Silence for a time followed that last appeal. Halstead seemed to have
resigned himself to his task. Addison's pencil ciphered away; and I grew
absorbed in Colter's flight from the Indians.