He filled father's and brother's place -- his mother knew how
well. Sam Doolittle knew, for he declared "there wa'n't a
stake in the fences that wa'n't looked after, as smart as if
the old chap was to hum." The grain was threshed as duly as
ever, though a boy of sixteen had to stand in the shoes of a
man of forty. Perhaps Sam and Anderese wrought better than
their wont, in shame or in admiration. Karen never had so good
a woodpile, Mrs. Landholm's meal bags were never better looked
after; and little Winifred and Asahel never wanted their rides
in the snow, nor had more nuts cracked o' nights; though they
had only one tired brother at home instead of two fresh ones.
Truth to tell, however, one ride from Winthrop would at any
time content them better than two rides from Will. Winthrop
never allowed that he was tired, and never seemed so; but his
mother and Karen were resolved that tired he must be.

"He had pretty strength to begin with," Karen said; "that was
a good thing; and he seemed to keep it up too; he was shootin'
over everything."

If Winthrop kept his old plans of self-aggrandizement, it was
at the bottom of his heart; he looked and acted nothing but
the farmer, all those months. There was a little visit from
Rufus too, at mid-winter, which must have wakened the spirit
of other things, if it had been at all laid to sleep. But if
it waked it kept still. It did not so much as shew itself.
Unless indirectly.

"What have you been doing all to-day, Governor?" said his
little sister, meeting him with joyful arms as he came in one
dark February evening.

"What have _you_ been about all day?" said her brother, taking
her up to his shoulder. "Cold isn't it? Have you got some
supper for me?"

"No, _I_ hav'n't, --" said the little girl. "Mamma! -- Governor
wants his supper!"

"Hush, hush. Governor's not in a hurry."

"Where have you been all day?" she repeated, putting her
little hand upon his cold face with a sort of tender
consideration.

"In the snow, and out of it."

"What were you doing in the snow?"

"Walking."

"Was it cold?"

"Stinging."

"_What_ was stinging?"

"Why, the cold!"

She laughed a little, and went on stroking his face.

"What were you doing when you wa'n't in the snow?"

"What do you want to know for?"

"Tell me!"

"I was scutching flax."

"What is that?"

"Why, don't you know? -- didn't you see me beating flax in the
barn the other day? -- beating it upon a board,