ist anything and
everyone.

To her, the relative importance of the farm to Billy was as simple as a
problem in addition. She had lost none of her old knack for turning off
large amounts of work quickly, but she firmly stopped just short of
the point where her milk might be impaired by her exertions. Martin
had insisted that the requirement for hired help was over; however, in
despair over his wife's determined sabotage, it was Martin himself who
commanded that the girl be reinstated for another two months.

Rose was a methodical mother and not overly fussy. As soon as Billy
could sit in a highchair or an ordinary packing box on the floor, she
kept him with her while she went about her different tasks, cooing and
laughing with him as she worked, but when he needed attention she could
disregard calling dishes, chickens, half-churned butter, unfinished
ironing, unmilked cows or an irate husband with a placidity that was
worthy of the old Greek gods. Martin was dumbfounded to the point of
stupefaction. He was too thoroughly self-centred, however, to let other
than his own preferences long dominate his Rag-weed's actions. Her first
duty was clearly to administer to his comfort, and that was precisely
what she would do. It was ridiculous, the amount of time she gave to
that baby--out of all rhyme and reason. If she wasn't feeding him,
she was changing him; if she wasn't bathing him she was rocking him to
sleep. And there, at last, Martin found a tangible point of resistance,
for he discovered from Nellie that not only was it not necessary to rock
a baby, but that it was contrary to the new ideas currently endorsed.
Reinforced, he argued the matter, adding that he could remember
distinctly his own mother had never rocked Benny.

"Yes, and Benny died."

"It wasn't her fault if he did," he retorted, a trifle disconcerted.

"I don't know about that. She took chances I would never take with
Billy. She sacrificed him, with her eyes open, for you and Nellie--gave
him up so that you could have this farm."

Martin did not care for this new version. "What has that to do with the
question?" he demanded coldly.

"Just this--your mother had her ideas and I have mine. I am going to
raise Billy in my own way." But, for weeks thereafter she managed with
an almost miraculous adroitness to have him asleep at meal times.

At seven months, Billy was the most adorable, smiling, cuddly baby
imaginable, with dimples, four teeth and a tanta