IWhen Markham came in from shovelling his last wagon-load of corn into the crib he found that his wife had put the children to bed, and was kneading a batch of dough with the dogged action of a tired and sullen woman.
He slipped his soggy boots off his feet, and having laid a piece of wood on top of the stove, put his heels on it comfortably. His chair squeaked as he leaned back on its hinder legs, but he paid no attention; he was used to it, exactly as he was used to his wife's lameness and ceaseless toil.
"That closes up my corn," he said after a silence. "I guess I'll go to town to-morrow to git my horses shod."
"I guess I'll git ready and go along," said his wife, in a sorry attempt to be firm and confident of tone.
"What do you want to go to town fer?" he grumbled.
"What does any
