She went to the stove and lifted a lid from the
large kettle. She sniffed audibly.
"Um! Ah loves cabbige soup, Miss Brewster!"
"Do you, Sary--so does Mr. Brewster. If you will watch the meat frying,
I will blow the horn to call the men to dinner."
Mrs. Brewster waited until Sary began thickening the gravy, then she
took the horn and stood upon the door-step, blowing it several times.
It was then hung back of the kitchen door again.
"Polly! Come now, dear, and wash up for dinner," called Mrs. Brewster,
standing in the doorway that led to the family living-room.
Presently, the family, augmented by Sary, sat down in the kitchen for
dinner. Jeb, the hired man, had followed in after his master, and had
been introduced to the new help; he now watched her capable hands and
arms as she swung the soup-kettle from the stove.
"Just a moment, Sary!" whispered Mrs. Brewster, warningly.
Sary looked around in surprise and saw the others with bowed heads,
waiting for her to get rid of the pot and fold her hands. It took her
but half a second to understand and follow the leading.
The ranchers of the Rocky Mountains and plains are most orthodox church
folk. They would as soon steal or murder as to miss "meetin'," or work
on a Sunday. And most of them have regular family prayers and long
services at home whenever opportunity offers.
Sam Brewster was not one of the latter kind but the longer the grace he
said, the better a man he thought he was.
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