Straw must serve for their beds till they could get some sacking to
stuff it into, and as some of the sheep would have to be killed and
salted for the winter, the skins would serve for warmth. Patience
arranged the bundles of straw with a neat bit of plaiting round them,
at one corner of the room for herself and Rusha, at the opposite one
for Stead. For the present they must sleep in their clothes.
Life was always so rough, and, to present notions, comfortless, that
all this was not nearly so terrible to the farmer's daughter of two
centuries ago as it would be to a girl of the present day. Indeed,
save for the grief for the good father, the sense of which now and
then rushed on them like a horrible, too true dream, Steadfast and
Patience would almost have enjoyed the setting up for themselves and
all their contrivances. Some losses, however, besides that of the
churn were very great in their eyes. Patience's spinning wheel
especially, and the tools, scythe, hook, and spade, all of which had
been so much damaged, that Smith Blane had shaken his head over them
as past mending.
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