LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
to-day,”—as it was probably the last time the work would be done at the house,—only that he was just compelled to put new sills under the cattle-barn, as it was liable to tumble down any minute.
As the structure referred to has stood for about a quarter of a century, it seemed possible the crash might not have come to-day,—and I believe I hinted as much, as I went about radiating sweetness and light.
Not long after this there might have been seen upon the back porch of the Ranch of the Pointed Firs a woman’s waving shadow, bowing and bending low above a wash-tub, the shadow muttering,—
“For men must work, and women must weep,
And there’s little to earn, and many to keep.”
After an hour or more of hard work, I observed Thomas coming up from the ruins of Palmyra, and hoping to awaken a spark of compassion in his adamantine bosom, I put on my most fagged expression, rubbing so fast and with such force that every loose thing on the porch was jingling when he reached it.
But, alas for my misplaced hopes! he passed me with a cheerful, “Lay on, Macduff!”
Then “the breaking waves dashed high,” and the white foam flew, but the Madonna of the tubs spake no word.
He came for some tool, as nearly as I could judge without looking at him,—which I disdained to do.
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