Before daylight we were up again, and the steer was cut up and salted
and in the harness-cask soon after sunrise. His head and feet
were all popped into a big pot where we used to make soup for the pigs,
and by the time it had been boiling an hour or two there was no fear
of any one swearing to the yellow steer by `head-mark'.

We had a hearty breakfast off the `skirt', but mother wouldn't touch a bit,
nor let Aileen take any; she took nothing but a bit of bread and a cup of tea,
and sat there looking miserable and downcast. Father said nothing,
but sat very dark-looking, and ate his food as if nothing was the matter.
After breakfast he took his mare, the old dog followed; there was no need
to whistle for him -- it's my belief he knew more than many a Christian --
and away they went. Father didn't come home for a week --
he had got into the habit of staying away for days and days together.
Then things went on the old way.




Chapter 3



So the years went on -- slow enough they seemed to us sometimes --
the green winters, pretty cold, I tell you, with frost and hail-storms,
and the long hot summers. We were not called boys any longer, except by
mother and Aileen, but took our places among the men of the district.
We lived mostly at home, in the old way; sometimes working pretty hard,
sometimes doing very little. When the cows were milked and the wood chopped,
there was nothing to do for the rest of the day. The creek was that close