Antonia and Ambrosch were talking in
Bohemian; disputing about which of them had done more ploughing that day.
Mrs. Shimerda egged them on, chuckling while she gobbled her food.
[Illustration: Antonia ploughing in the field]
Presently Ambrosch said sullenly in English: "You take them ox to-morrow
and try the sod plough. Then you not be so smart."
His sister laughed. "Don't be mad. I know it's awful hard work for break
sod. I milk the cow for you to-morrow, if you want."
Mrs. Shimerda turned quickly to me. "That cow not give so much milk like
what your grandpa say. If he make talk about fifteen dollars, I send him
back the cow."
"He does n't talk about the fifteen dollars," I exclaimed indignantly. "He
does n't find fault with people."
"He say I break his saw when we build, and I never," grumbled Ambrosch.
I knew he had broken the saw, and then hid it and lied about it. I began
to wish I had not stayed for supper. Everything was disagreeable to me.
Antonia ate so noisily now, like a man, and she yawned often at the table
and kept stretching her arms over her head, as if they ached. Grandmother
had said, "Heavy field work'll spoil that girl. She'll lose all her nice
ways and get rough ones." She had lost them already.
After supper I rode home through the sad, soft spring twilight. Since
winter I had seen very little of Antonia.
Pages:
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124