about, with much energy, to achieve order, valiantly fighting
back her insistent tears as she worked.

Meanwhile, Martin, totally oblivious of any cause for storm, was
making trips to and from the barrel which contained shorts mixed
with water' skimmed milk and house slops, the screaming,
scrambling shoats gulping the pork-making mixture as rapidly as
he could fetch it. He worked unconsciously, thinking, typically,
not of Rose's reaction to this new life, but of what it held in
store for himself.

He glanced toward the shack. Already the mere fact of a woman's
presence beneath its roof seemed, to him, to give it a different
aspect. Through the open door he observed that Rose was sweeping.
How he had always hated the thought of any one handling what was
his! He dumped another bucket of slops into the home-made trough.
Why couldn't she just let things alone and get supper quietly?
Heaven only knew what he had gotten himself into! But of one
thing he was miserably certain; never again would he have that
comfortable seclusion to which he had grown so accustomed. He had
known this would be true, but the sight of Rose and her broom
brought the realization of it home to him with an all too
irritating vividness. Yes, everything was going to be different.
There would be many changes and he would never know what to
expect next. Why had he brought this upon himself; had he not
lived alone for years? He had let the habit of obtaining whatever
he started after get the better of him. Even today he could have
drawn back from this marriage. But, he had sensed that Rose was
about to do so herself, and this knowledge had pushed his
determination to the final notch.