"What did Jimmy go to town for?" she asked.
"Whatever it was ye wanted," answered Dannie.
"What was it I wanted?" persisted Mary.
"He dinna tell me," replied Dannie, and the smile wavered.
"Me, either," said Mary, and she stooped and picked up her
sewing.
Dannie went out and gently closed the door. He stood for a second
on the step, forcing himself to take an inventory of the work.
There were the chickens to feed, and the cows to milk, feed, and
water. Both the teams must be fed and bedded, a fire in his own
house made, and two dozen rats skinned, and the skins put to
stretch and cure. And at the end of it all, instead of a bed and
rest, there was every probability that he must drive to town
after Jimmy; for Jimmy could get helpless enough to freeze in a
drift on a dollar sixty-five.
"Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy!" muttered Dannie. "I wish ye wadna." And he
was not thinking of himself, but of the eyes of the woman inside.
So Dannie did all the work, and cooked his supper, because he
never ate in Jimmy's cabin when Jimmy was not there. Then he
skinned rats, and watched the clock, because if Jimmy did not
come by eleven, it meant he must drive to town and bring him
home. No wonder Jimmy chilled at the trapping when he kept his
blood on fire with whiskey.
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