"
"What have you done?" she inquired.
"It's done ruint," he replied, "you'll hafter th'ow it away; 't
ain't fitten fer nothin.' I done cried 'bout a bucketful in it."
"Why did you cry?" asked Miss Minerva calmly. "Don't you like to
work?"
"Yes 'm, I jes' loves to work; I wish I had time to work all the
time. But it makes my belly ache to churn,--I got a awful pain
right now."
"Churn on!" she commanded unsympathetically.
He grabbed the dasher and churned vigorously for one minute.
"I reckon the butter's done come," he announced, resting from
his labors.
"It hasn't begun to come yet," replied the exasperated woman.
"Don't waste so much time, William."
The child churned in silence for the space of two minutes, and
suggested: "It's time to put hot water in it; Aunt Cindy always
puts hot water in it. Lemme git some fer you."
"I never put hot water in my milk," said she, "it makes the
butter puffy. Work more and talk less, William."
Again there was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of the
dasher thumping against the bottom of the churn, and the rattle
of the dishes.
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