It was without thought on her part, almost by chance, yet the chance was that she nursed Adam and fed Polly.

Then the babies began teething, so that she was rushed to find time to prepare three regular meals a day, and as for the garden and poultry she had planned, George did what he pleased about them, which was little, if anything.
He would raise so much to keep from being hungry, he would grow so many roots, and so much cabbage for winter, he would tend enough corn for a team and to fatten pork; right there he stopped and went fishing, while the flask was in evidence on the pantry shelf only two days.

Kate talked crop rotation, new seed, fertilization, until she was weary; George heartily agreed with her, but put nothing of it all into practice.
"As soon as the babies are old enough to be taken out," she said, "things will be better.

I just can't do justice to them and my work, too.

Three pairs! My poor mother! And she's alive yet! I marvel at it." So they lived, and had enough to eat, and were clothed, but not one step did they advance toward Kate's ideals of progression, economy, accumulation.