bed. But besides these and other daily household
duties there were, in their various seasons, the jam and jelly, the
pumpkin and squash preserves, the butter-making and cheese-making, and
more than all, the long, long work with the wool. Billy Jack used to say
that the little mother followed that wool from the backs of her sheep
to the backs of her family, and hated to let the weaver have his turn
at it. What with the washing and the oiling of it, the carding and the
spinning, the twisting and the winding, she never seemed to be done. And
then, when it came back from the weaver in great webs of fulled-cloth
and flannel and winsey, there was all the cutting, shaping, and sewing
before the family could get it on their backs. True, the tailor was
called in to help, but though he declared he worked no place else as he
worked at the Finch's, it was Billy Jack's openly expressed opinion that
"he worked his jaw more than his needle, for at meal-times he gave his
needle a rest."

But though Hughie, of course, knew nothing of this toiling and moiling,
he was distinctly conscious of an air of tidiness and comfort and
quiet, and was keenly alive to the fact that there was a splendid supper
waiting him when he got in from the stables with the others, "hungry as
a wild-cat," as Billy jack expressed it. And that WAS a supper! Fried
ribs of fresh pork, and hashed potatoes, hot and brown, followed by
buckwheat pancakes, hot and brown, with maple syrup. There was tea for
the father and mother with their oat cakes, but for the children no such
luxury, only the choice of buttermilk or sweet milk. Hughie, it is true,
was offered tea, but he promptly declined, for though he loved it well
enough, it was sufficient reason for him that Thomas had none. It took,
however, all the grace out of his declining, that Mr. Finch remarked
in gruff pleasantry, "What would a boy want with tea!" The supper was
a very solemn meal. They were all too busy to talk, at least so Hughie
felt, and as for himself, he was only afraid lest the others should
"push back" before he had satisfied the terrible craving within him.

After supper the books were taken, and in Gaelic, for though Donald
Finch was perfectly able in English for business and ordinary affairs
of life, when it came to the worship of God, he found that only in the
ancient mother tongue could he "get liberty." As Hughie listened to the
solemn reading, and then to the prayer that followed, though he co