My teams never got the heaves when I fed
prairie hay. It graveled me like sixty to pay such a price, but I had to
do it because the season was just between hay and grass. Sometimes I
thought of waiting over until the summer of 1856 to make hay for sale to
the movers; but having made my start for my farm I could not bring
myself to give up reaching it that spring. So I only waited occasionally
to break in or rest up the foot-sore and lame cattle for which I traded
from time to time.
The Fewkes family went on after I had given them some butter, some side
pork and a milking of milk. While I was baking pancakes that last
morning, Rowena came to my fire, and snatching the spider away from me
took the job off my hands, baking the cakes while I ate. She was a
pretty girl, slim and well developed, and she had a fetching way with
her eyes after friendly relations were established with her--which was
pretty hard because she seemed to feel that every one looked down on
her, and was quick to take offense.
"Got any saleratus?" she asked.
"No," said I. "Why?"
She stepped over to the Fewkes wagon and brought back a small packet of
saleratus, a part of which she stirred into the batter.
"It's gettin' warm enough so your milk'll sour on you," said she. "This
did. Don't you know enough to use saleratus to sweeten the sour milk?
You better keep this an' buy some at the next store."
"I wish I had somebody along that could cook," said I.
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