<a name="Chapter-XXXIV" id="Chapter-XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV
Of the Fall of the Great Tree, and the Funeral of Aristotle.</a>
To-day was a long work-day. When afternoon-time was come, the mamma was worried because the cream was n't sour enough to churn, and she wanted to get it churned before supper-time. I wanted to help her. I feel so sorry for her when the worry lines come on her face. They make her look tired. While she was taking a nap by the baby on the bed, I tried to think how I could help her. By-and-by, after a time not very long, I thought of a way. I got a lemon and cut it in two with the butcher-knife. Then I took the lid off the big churn. I squeezed those lemons lots of times into the cream. Then, when they would n't leak any more juice out, I put the rinds in for a finishing touch, just like the mamma puts them into the lemonade after she has squeezed all the squeeze out. I feel better now. I know when the mamma awakes, joy will be hers when she sees the cream is sour enough to churn.
But the feels the mamma did have when she had wake-ups—they was not joy feels; and the feels I now have are sore feels on the back part of me.
While I did mind the baby, there was an odd sound like someone crying a great way off. The mamma says, "I wonder what it is." I know it is
