To her, the relative importance of the farm to Billy was as
simple as a problem in addition. She had lost none of her old
knack for turning off large amounts of work quickly, but she
firmly stopped just short of the point where her milk might be
impaired by her exertions. Martin had insisted that the
requirement for hired help was over; however, in despair over his
wife's determined sabotage, it was Martin himself who commanded
that the girl be reinstated for another two months.

Rose was a methodical mother and not overly fussy. As soon as
Billy could sit in a highchair or an ordinary packing box on the
floor, she kept him with her while she went about her different
tasks, cooing and laughing with him as she worked, but when he
needed attention she could disregard calling dishes, chickens,
half-churned butter, unfinished ironing, unmilked cows or an
irate husband with a placidity that was worthy of the old Greek
gods. Martin was dumbfounded to the point of stupefaction. He was
too thoroughly self-centred, however, to let other than his own
preferences long dominate his Rag-weed's actions. Her first duty
was clearly to administer to his comfort, and that was precisely
what she would do. It was ridiculous, the amount of time she gave
to that baby--out of all rhyme and reason. If she wasn't feeding
him, she was changing him; if she wasn't bathing him she was
rocking him to sleep. And there, at last, Martin found a tangible
point of resistance, for he discovered from Nellie that not only
was it not necessary to rock a baby, but that it was contrary to
the new ideas currently endorsed. Reinforced, he argued the
matter, adding that he could remember distinctly his own mother
had never rocked Benny.