I
have," he said.

"I thought you looked neglected," said Kate. "Sonny across the field
is starting a shock ahead of me; I can't come, but go to the
kitchen--the door is unlocked--you'll find fried chicken and some
preserves and pickles in the pantry; the bread box is right there, and
the milk and butter are in the spring house."

He gave Kate one long look. "Thank you," he said and leaped the fence.
He stopped on the front walk and stood a minute, then he turned and
went around the house. She laughed aloud. She was sending him to
chicken perfectly cooked, barely cold, melon preserves, pickled
cucumbers, and bread like that which had for years taken a County Fair
prize each fall; butter yellow as the goldenrod lining the fences, and
cream stiff enough to stand alone. Also, he would find neither germ
nor mould in her pantry and spring house, while it would be a new
experience for him to let him wait on himself. Kate husked away in
high good humour, but she quit an hour early to be on time to go to
Agatha. She explained this to Adam, when she told him that he would
have to milk alone, while she bathed and dressed herself and got supper.

When she began to dress, Kate examined her hair minutely, and combed it
with unusual care. If Robert was at Agatha's when she got there, she
would let him see that her hair was not sunburned and ruined. To match
the hair dressing, she reached back in her closet and took down her
second best white dress. She was hoping that Agatha would be well
enough to have a short visit. Kate worked so steadily that she seldom
saw any of her brothers and sisters during the summer. In winter she
spent a day with each of them, if she could possibly manage. Anyway,
Agatha would like to see her appearing well, so she put on the plain
snowy linen, and carefully pinning a big apron over it, she went to the
kitchen. They always had a full dinner at noon and worked until dusk.
Her bath had made her later than she intended to be. Dusk was
deepening, evening chill was beginning to creep into the air. She
closed the door, fed Little Poll and rolled her into bed; set the
potatoes boiling, and began mixing the biscuit. She had them just
ready to roll when steam lifted the lid of the potato pot; with the
soft dough in her hand she took a step to right it. While it was in
her fingers, she peered into the pot.

She did not look up on the instant the door opened, because she thought
it would be Ada