A teething puppy had
torn his _Dialogues of Plato_ to shreds, and when his successor had come
into the home, he had used the _Marcus Aurelius_ for gun wadding, ere
his wife's precaution of placing the padlock from the door on her
mother's old linen chest.

To-day, as David passed the house, the old mother sat on her little
porch churning butter in a small dasher churn. She was glad, as he could
see, because she could do something once more.

"Now are you happy?" he called laughingly, as he paused beside her.

"Well, I be. Hit's been a right smart o' while since I been able to do a
lick o' work. We sure do have a heap to thank you fer. Be Decatur Irwin
as glad to lose his foot as I be to git my laig back?" she queried
whimsically; "I reckon not."

"I reckon not, too, but with him it was a case of losing his life or his
foot, while with you it was only a question of walking about, or being
bedridden for the next twenty years."

"They be ignorant, them Irwins, an' she's more'n that, fer she's a fool.
She come round yest'day wantin' to borry a hoe to fix up her gyarden
patch, an' she 'lowed ef you'n Cass had only lef' him be, he'd 'a' come
through all right, fer hit war a-gettin' better the day you-uns took hit
off. I told her yas, he'd 'a' come cl'ar through to the nex' world, like
Farwell done. When the misery left him, he up an' died, an' Lord knows
whar he went."

"I'll get him an artificial foot as soon as he is able to wear one.
He'll get on very well with a peg under his knee until then. What's
Hoyle doing with the mule?"

"He's rid'n' him fer Cass. She's tryin' to get the ground ready fer a
crap. Hit's all we can do. Our women nevah war used to do such work
neither, but she would try."

"What's that? Is she ploughing?" he asked sharply, and strode away.

"I reckon she don't want ye there, Doctah," the widow called after him,
but he walked on.

The land lay in a warm hollow completely surrounded by hills. It had
been many years cleared, and the mellow soil was free from stumps and
roots. When Thryng arrived, three furrows had been run rather crookedly
the length of the patch, and Cassandra stood surveying them ruefully,
flushed and troubled, holding to the handles of the small plough and
struggling to set it straight for the next furrow.

The noise of the fall behind them covered his approach, and ere she was
aware he was at her side. Placing his two hands over hers which clung
stubbornly to the handle