you want I should do up your linen coat, Claude, I can iron it
while you're hitching," she said wistfully.

Claude stood kicking at a bunch of mottled feathers that had once
been a young chicken. His shoulders were drawn high, his mother
saw, and his figure suggested energy and determined self-control.

"You needn't mind, mother." He spoke rapidly, muttering his
words. "I'd better wear my old clothes if I have to take the
hides. They're greasy, and in the sun they'll smell worse than
fertilizer."

"The men can handle the hides, I should think. Wouldn't you feel
better in town to be dressed?" She was still blinking up at him.

"Don't bother about it. Put me out a clean coloured shirt, if you
want to. That's all right."

He turned toward the barn, and his mother went slowly back the
path up to the house. She was so plucky and so stooped, his dear
mother! He guessed if she could stand having these men about,
could cook and wash for them, he could drive them to town!

Half an hour after the wagon left, Nat Wheeler put on an alpaca
coat and went off in the rattling buckboard in which, though he
kept two automobiles, he still drove about the country. He said
nothing to his wife; it was her business to guess whether or not
he would be home for dinner. She and Mahailey could have a good
time scrubbing and sweeping all day, with no men around to bother
them.