Three days it stormed with never a break, stormed so that the men
dreaded the carrying of water from the spring that became ice-rimmed but
never froze over; that clogged with sodden masses of snow half melted
and sent faint wisps of steam up into the chill air. Cutting wood was an
ordeal, every armload an achievement. Cash did not even attempt to
visit his trap line, but sat before the fire smoking or staring into the
flames, or pottered about the little domestic duties that could not half
fill the days.
With melted snow water, a bar of yellow soap, and one leg of an old pair
of drawers, he scrubbed on his knees the floor on his side of the dead
line, and tried not to notice Lovin Child. He failed only because Lovin
Child refused to be ignored, but insisted upon occupying the immediate
foreground and in helping--much as he had helped Marie pack her suit
case one fateful afternoon not so long before.
When Lovin Child was not permitted to dabble in the pan of soapy water,
he revenged himself by bringing Cash's mitten and throwing that in, and
crying "Ee? Ee?" with a shameless delight because it sailed round and
round until Cash turned and saw it, and threw it out.
"No, no, no!" Lovin Child admonished himself gravely, and got it and
threw it back again.
Cash did not say anything. Indeed, he hid a grin under his thick,
curling beard which he had grown since the first frost as a protection
against cold. He picked up the mitten and laid it to dry on the slab
mantel, and when he returned, Lovin Child was sitting in the pan,
rocking back and forth and crooning "'Ock-a-by! 'Ock-a-by!" with the
impish twinkle in his eyes.
Cash was just picking him out of the pan when Bud came in with a load of
wood. Bud hastily dropped the wood, and without a word Cash handed Lovin
Child across the dead line, much as he would have handed over a wet
puppy. Without a word Bud took him, but the quirky smile hid at the
corners of his mouth, and under Cash's beard still lurked the grin.
"No, no, no!" Lovin Child kept repeating smugly, all the while Bud was
stripping off his wet clothes and chucking him into the undershirt he
wore for a nightgown, and trying a man's size pair of socks on his legs.
"I should say no-no-no! You doggone little rascal, I'd rather herd a
flea on a hot plate! I've a plumb good notion to hog-tie yuh for awhile.
Can't trust yuh a minute nowhere. Now look what you got to wear while
your clothes dry!"
"Ee? Ee?" invited Lovin Child, gleefully holding up a muffled little
foot lost in the depths of Bud's sock.