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Updated: May 26, 2025
The patchwork on each was done in a different design; one was the popular "log-cabin" pattern, another the "laurel-leaf," the third the "blazing star." This quilt Mahailey thought too good for use, and she had told Mrs. Wheeler that she was saving it "to give Mr. Claude when he got married." She slept on her feather bed in winter, and in summer she put it away in the attic.
Wheeler, going to the foot of the ladder to call Mahailey, narrowly escaped being knocked down by a large feather bed which came plumping through the trap door. A moment later Mahailey herself descended backwards, holding to the rungs with one hand, and in the other arm carrying her quilts. "Why, Mahailey," gasped Mrs. Wheeler. "It's not winter yet; whatever are you getting your bed for?"
There she is, huntin' for somethin' to cook with; no stove nor no dishes nor nothin' everything all broke up. I reckon she'll be mighty glad to see you comin'." Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Mahailey whispered hastily, "Don't forgit about the coal-oil, and don't you be lousy if you can help it, honey."
Mahailey came out on the hilltop and rang the breakfast bell. After the hired men went up to the house, Claude slipped into the barn to see that Molly had got her share of oats. She was eating quietly, her head hanging, and her scaly, dead-looking foot lifted just a little from the ground. When he stroked her neck and talked to her she stopped grinding and gazed at him mournfully.
What was there to hope for now? He heard a sound of distress, and looking back, saw the barn cat, that had been left behind to pick up her living. She was standing inside the hedge, her jet black fur ruffled against the wet flakes, one paw lifted, mewing miserably. Claude went over and picked her up. "What's the matter, Blackie? Mice getting scarce in the barn? Mahailey will say you are bad luck.
As a result of Brother Weldon's sojourn at the farm, Claude was sent to the Temple College. Claude had come to believe that the things and people he most disliked were the ones that were to shape his destiny. When the second week of September came round, he threw a few clothes and books into his trunk and said good-bye to his mother and Mahailey.
I guess we won't try to go out till after breakfast. We'll have to dig our way to the barn, and I never thought to bring the shovels up last night." "Th' ole snow shovels is in the cellar. I'll git 'em." "Not now, Mahailey. Give us our breakfast before you do anything else." Mrs. Wheeler came down, pinning on her little shawl, her shoulders more bent than usual.
She won't let 'em kill their girl babies nor do such awful things like they always have, an' she won't let 'em pray to them stone iboles, cause they can't help 'em none. I 'spect Miss Enid'll do a heap of good, all the time." Behind her diplomatic monologues, however, Mahailey had her own ideas, and she was greatly scandalized at Enid's departure.
Mahailey, you won't let my vinegar burn, will you?" Claude followed her to the sitting-room, where her new map hung on the wall above the carpet lounge. Leaning against the back of a willow rocking-chair, she began to move her hand about over the brightly coloured, shiny surface, murmuring, "Yes, there is Bordeaux, so far to the south; and there is Paris."
She and Mahailey could have a good time scrubbing and sweeping all day, with no men around to bother them. There were few days in the year when Wheeler did not drive off somewhere; to an auction sale, or a political convention, or a meeting of the Farmers' Telephone directors; to see how his neighbours were getting on with their work, if there was nothing else to look after.
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