"Never did, if I didn't to-day," Winthrop remarked as he came
to the table.

"For shame Asahel!" put in little Winifred with her childish
voice; -- "_you_ don't know. Governor always is right."

It was a very cold February, and it was a very bleak walk over
the mountain; but Winthrop took it many a time. His mother now
and then said when she saw him come in or go out, "Don't
overtry yourself, my son! --" but he answered her always with
his usual composure, or with one of those deep breaking-up
looks which acknowledged only her care -- not the need for it.
As Karen said, "he had a pretty strength to begin with;" and
it was so well begun that all the exposure and hardship served
rather to its development and maturing.

The snow melted from off the hills, and the winter blasts came
more fitfully, and were changed for soft south airs between
times. There was an end to dressing flax. The spring work was
opening; and Winthrop had enough to do without working on his
own score. Then Mr. Landholm came home; and the energies of
both the one and the other were fully taxed, at the plough and
the harrow, in the barnyard and in the forest, where in all
the want of Rufus made a great gap. Mrs. Landholm had more
reason now to distress herself, and distressed herself
accordingly, but it was of no use. Winthrop wrought early and
late, and threw himself into the gap with a desperate ardour
that meant -- his mother knew what.