fee from the grinders. Then she pulled out the little drawer, emptied it, and wiped it carefully. Pa opened the sack of wheat.
The black iron hopper in the top of the mill held half a cupful of the grain. Ma shut its top. Then she sat down, placed the square box between her knees to hold it firmly, and began turning the handle around and around. The mill gave out its grinding noise.
“Wheat will grind just like coffee,” Ma said. She looked into the little drawer. The broken bits of wheat were crushed out flat. “Not like coffee, either,” Ma said. “The wheat hasn’t been roasted and has more moisture in it.”
“Can you make bread of that?” Pa asked.
“Of course I can,” Ma replied. “But we must keep the mill grinding if I’m to have enough to make a loaf for dinner.”
“And I must go haul some hay to bake it with,” said Pa. He took a round, flat wooden box from his pocket and handed it to Ma. “Here’s something you can maybe use to make a light.”
“Is there any word of the train, Charles?” Ma asked him.
“They’re working again at that Tracy cut,” said Pa. “It’s packed full of snow again, to the top of the snowbanks they threw up on both sides when they cleared it last time.”
He went to the stable to hitch David to the sled. Ma looked into the box. It was full of yellow axle grease. But there was no time then to think about making a light. The fire was dying and Ma put the last stick of hay on it. Laura hurried into the lean-to to twist more hay.
In a few minutes Ma came to help her. “Mary is grinding the wheat,” Ma said. “We must twist a lot of hay to keep the fire going. We must have a good warm fire when Pa comes back. He will be almost frozen.”
It was late afternoon before Pa came back. He unhitched the sled near the back door and put David in the stable. Then he pitched the hay into the lean-to until there was hardly space to squeeze through from door to door. When that was done, he came in to the stove. He was so cold that it was some time before he was warm enough to speak.
“I’m sorry to be so late, Caroline,” he made excuse. “The snow is much deeper than it was. I had a hard time digging the hay out of the drift.”
“I think we may as well have dinner at this time every day,” Ma answered. “What with saving fire and light, the days are so short that there’s hardly time for three meals. A late dinner will serve for supper as well.”
The brown bread that Ma had made from the ground wheat was very good. It had a fresh, nutty flavor that seemed almost to take the place of butter.
“I see you’ve got your sourdough working again,” Pa remarked.
“Yes,” Ma answered. “We don’t need yeast or milk to make good bread.”
“‘Where there’s a will there’s a way,’” said Pa. He helped himself to another potato and sprinkled it with salt. “Potatoes and salt aren’t to be sneezed at either. Salt brings out the full flavor of a potato; it’s not all hidden with butter and gravy.”
“Don’t put sugar in your tea, Pa, and you’ll get the full flavor of the tea,” Laura said naughtily.
Pa’s eyes twinkled at her. “A good hot cup of tea brings out the flavor of the sugar, Half-Pint,” he answered. Then he asked Ma, “How did you make out with the axle grease, for a light?”
“I haven’t had time yet,” Ma told him. “But as soon as we finish eating I’m going to make a button lamp.”
“What’s a button lamp?” Pa asked.
“Wait and see,” said Ma.
When he had gone to do the chores for the night Ma told Carrie to bring her the rag bag. She took some of the axle grease from the box and spread it in an old saucer. Then she cut a small square of calico. “Now find me a button in the button bag, Carrie.”
“What kind of button, Ma?” Carrie asked, bringing the button bag from the cold front room.
“Oh, one of Pa’s old overcoat buttons,” said Ma.
She put the button in the center of the square of calico. She drew the cloth together over the button and wound a thread tightly around it and twisted the corners of calico straight upward in a tapering bunch. Then she rubbed a little axle grease up the calico and set the button into the axle grease in the saucer.
“Now we’ll wait till Pa comes,” she said.
Laura and Carrie hurried to finish washing the dishes in the gathering dusk. It was dark when Pa came in.
“Give me a match, Charles, please,” Ma said. She lighted the taper tip of the button lamp. A tiny flame flickered and grew stronger. It burned steadily, melting the axle grease and drawing it up through the cloth into itself, keeping itself alight by burning. The little flame was like the flame of a candle in the dark.
“You’re a wonder, Caroline,” said Pa. “It’s only a little light, but it makes all the difference.”