“Oh! the Lady of the Lea,

Fair and young and gay was she.”

Her voice rose full-throated, mellowed now with tribulations and sympathy. The children clapped their hands that Mother was singing.

“Beautiful exceedingly,

The Lady of the Lea.”

She replenished the fire of twisted hay and corn-cobs in the stove with the four holes and the iron hearth in front. She cooked cornmeal mush for supper and set the table. Several times she sang the same verses over.

“Many a wooer sought her hand,

For she had gold and she had land,”

The teakettle sang and the children chattered happily at the window. She lighted the coal-oil lamp with the red flannel in the bowl and washed her hands in the tin basin. The prairie twilight came on. The winds died down.

“Everything at her command,

The Lady of the Lea.”

Will came in from doing the chores.

“It’s the nicest time of day . . . isn’t it, Will . . . the red fire of the corn . . . and the steaming teakettle . . . supper ready . . . and the children all alive and well . . . and you and I together?”

Will put his arm around her for a brief, rare moment.

“It’s the nicest time of day, Abbie-girl.”

CHAPTER XIV

Yes, the coming of the barrel seemed to put something back into Abbie which had been gone temporarily,—laughter and hope, courage and faith. She began planning right away for Christmas. Mack was nearly eight, Margaret six and little John two. They were going to have the finest Christmas they had ever known. To Abbie’s pleasure, Will entered into the preparations, too. He was as glad to see Abbie come to life as she was to see him throw off a little of his moroseness.

She told Gus and Christine Reinmueller their plans.

“Ach!” Christine snorted. “So? Gans närrich . . . voolish.”

“A hell of a Christmas we’ll have,” was Gus’s equally enthusiastic response.

But Abbie found sympathy in Sarah Lutz,—Sarah, with her little black beady eyes and her cheerful, energetic way.

“You know, Sarah, I think every mother owes it to her children to give them happy times at Christmas. They’ll remember them all their lives. I even think it will make better men and women of them.”

“I think so, too, Abbie. We’re going to have a cedar tree hauled up from the Platte. Henry can get you one, too.”

All day long Abbie worked at the tasks that demanded attention, washing, ironing, patching, mending, baking, churning, caring for the chickens,—all with meager equipment or no equipment at all. Two wooden tubs, three heavy, clumsy flat-irons, a churn with wooden dasher, scissors, needles and thread, and a baking board with a few heavy dishes and utensils. But from them, clean clothes, sweet butter, neatly made-over suits and dresses and food that was palatable. The tapering Mackenzie fingers were calloused and burned and pricked. As tired as all these tasks left her, she would get the children to bed early and then bring out the Christmas things and begin working on them.