At night, when she ordered them all to bed the way she shooed the chickens into the hen-house, they stayed before her without understanding. What about the little white nightgowns that had to be taken from the bag in which they were brought over, and shaken by some strong hand? What about the bucket of water which had to be brought and set in the middle of the floor so that the little tired, dusty, sun-browned feet could be washed? And it made Mary and Beth laugh happily -- the idea that Betty Goodman thought that Demi could fall asleep without being told a story, or that Cathy could fall asleep without being rocked and sung to.

"I tell you, Aunt Ruby," Betty Goodman told her cook secretly "I'd rather manage a dozen farms than four children. It's terrible! No? Don't talk to me about children!"

"Someone as respected as you would know nothing about them, Betty Goodman. I saw that clearly yesterday when I saw the little children playing with your basket of keys. You don't know that it makes the children grow up badly? It is like their teeth become hard when they look in the mirror. That's the kind of things you have to know to raise and manage the children."

Betty Goodman did not pretend or hope to have such difficult knowledge on the subject as Aunt Ruby had. Aunt Ruby had "raised five and buried six" in her day. She was just glad to learn a few little mother-tricks to use in an emergency.

Demi's sticky fingers made her get white aprons that she had not worn for years. She had to get used to her moist kisses -- the expressions of a loving nature. She got her sewing-basket, which she rarely used, from the top shelf of the cupboard and placed it within easy reach. The torn blouses and buttonless skirts demanded them. It took her some days to get used to the laughing, the crying, the chattering that echoed through the house and around it all day long. It took her a few days before she could sleep comfortably with little Cathy's hot, plump body pressed close against her, and the little one's warm breath beating her cheek like the fanning of a bird's wing.

But at the end of two weeks Betty Goodman had grown quite used to these things, and she no longer complained.

Also, at the end of two weeks, when Betty Goodman was looking towards the cows, she saw Thomas's blue cart turning the bend of the road. Helen sat beside him, straight and alert. As they drew near, the young woman's smiling face showed that she was happy.

But this coming, unannounced and unexpected, threw Betty Goodman into a strange mood. The children had to be gathered. Where was Demi? There in the shed, sharpening her knife. And Mary and Beth? Cutting and making dolls in the corner. As for Cathy, she was safe enough in Betty Goodman's arms. Cathy had screamed with delight at the sight of the familiar blue cart which was bringing her mother back to her.

The excitement was all over, and they were gone. How quiet it was when they were gone! Betty Goodman stood in front of her house, looking and listening. She could no longer see the cart. The red sunset and the blue-gray twilight had together made a purple mist that hid the fields and road from her view. She could no longer hear the sound of its wheels. But she could still faintly hear the loud, glad voices of the children.

She turned into the house. There was a lot of work to be done because the children had left a sad disorder behind them. But she did not start working at once. Betty Goodman sat down beside the table. She looked slowly round the room, where the evening shadows were creeping and deepening around her lonely figure. She let her head fall down upon her bended arm and began to cry. Oh, how she cried! Not softly, as women often do. She cried like a man, with sobs that seemed to tear her very soul. She did not notice Ponto licking her hand.