said she. "It's a good day to clutter up.
The' won't be nobody in."

So, while Enoch laid apart the clock with a delicacy of touch known only
to square, mechanical fingers, and Rosie played with the button-box on
the floor, assorting colors and matching white with white, Amelia
scoured the tins. Her energy kept pace with the wind; it whirled in
gusts and snatches, yet her precision never failed.

"Made up your mind which cow to sell?" she asked, opening a discussion
still unsettled, after days of animated talk.

"Ain't much to choose," said Enoch. He had frankly set Amelia right on
the subject of livestock; and she smilingly acquiesced in his larger
knowledge. "Elbridge True's got a mighty nice Alderney, an' if he's
goin' to sell milk another year, he'll be glad to get two good milkers
like these. What he wants is ten quarts apiece, no matter if it's
bluer'n a whetstone. I guess I can swap off with him; but I don't want
to run arter him. I put the case last Thursday. Mebbe he'll drop round."

"Well," concluded Amelia, "I guess you're pretty sure to do what's
right."

The forenoon galloped fast, and it was half past eleven before she
thought of dinner.

"Why," said she, "ain't it butcher day? I've been lottin' on a piece o'
liver."

"Butcher day is Thursday," said Enoch. "You've lost count."

"My land!" responded Amelia. "Well, I guess we can put up with some
fried pork an' apples." There came a long, insistent knock at the outer
door. "Good heavens! Who's there! Rosie, you run to the side-light, an'
peek. It can't be a neighbor. They'd come right in. I hope my soul it
ain't company, a day like this."

Rosie got on her fat legs with difficulty. She held her pinafore full of
buttons, but disaster lies in doing too many things at once; there came
a slip, a despairing clutch, and the buttons fell over the floor. There
were a great many round ones, and they rolled very fast. Amelia washed
the sand from her parboiled fingers, and drew a nervous breath. She had
a presentiment of coming ill, painfully heightened by her consciousness
that the kitchen was "riding out," and that she and her family rode with
it. Rosie came running back from her peephole, husky with importance.
The errant buttons did not trouble her. She had an eternity of time
wherein to pick them up; and, indeed, the chances were that some tall,
benevolent being would do it for her.

"It's a man," she said. "He's got on a light coat with bright buttons