Thelma, but Petra steps in for milking time.

"Girls!" Rupert finally managed to out-scream his daughters, "Stop this!"

A second of silence followed Rupert’s command. Ivard discerned Thelma and Petra's heavy breathing in the quiet. The old man let a long moment drag out before clearing his throat to speak again. "Now, I want you to go out and fetch Ivard."

"Why me?" Thelma protested. "I have plenty to do this afternoon. Why, I..."

Ivard stepped back from the door, not wanting the fuss he'd buy if he were caught listening. He dumped the kindling wood into the bin by the kitchen door and brushed the splinters off his hands and rough tunic. The sticky clay of the fields was already drying and flaking off his rocky feet. A little kicking and rubbing them together.

The kitchen door opened. The tall, dishwater-blonde elder sister looked at him and called back into the kitchen. "Father, he's here already. Yes? What?" Thelma turned back to Ivard. "You have the cabbages and the wood?" she asked sharply.

Ivard nodded. "Cabbages. Cart." He pointed to the barn. "Wood." He pointed to the fresh kindling in the bin.

Thelma turned back into the kitchen. "He's got them," she said. She turned back to Ivard. "Father wants you." She turned back inside. "What?"

As Thelma turned away, Ivard saw that Petra was looking out the little kitchen window and smiling at him.

Something Rupert said seemed to provoke another protest from Thelma.

"I'll do it father, it's no bother to me," Petra said. Ivard could hear her voice through the little window.

Petra came out the back with a grubby work apron over her plain homespun dress. Rupert's golden-haired younger daughter gave Ivard a smile. "Ivard, I have to milk Buttercup," she said. "It will go faster if you can help me."

"Me?" Ivard said. "My hands." He held up the rock-like appendages he had used to splinter wood for kindling. "I can not help with milking."

"No, not help like that," Petra said, laughing. "I'll do the milking. But you're big and strong and Buttercup gives a lot of milk."

Ivard had not seen their cow, but Rupert had promised him milk, so he trusted there must be one somewhere.

Petra said. "Help me with the tub, Ivard."

Ivard couldn't believe the tub was for milk from one cow, but he judged it best not to act too curious. No doubt it made sense to Petra and would be clear in a moment.

At her direction, Ivard helped Petra load a large tub -- a washtub? a bathtub? -- onto a small two-wheeled cart. Petra also added a bucket and a ragged towel and a little clay pot. "A little salve, if she needs it," Petra said at Ivard's questioning glance. "She likes it better if it's a little slippery anyway."

Following Petra, Ivard wheeled the cart with tub, bucket, towel and salve down a little incline to a shed out of sight from the farmhouse and barn.

"She'll be ready for a milking by now," Petra said. She took the towel, bucket and salve. "Bring the tub."

Petra opened the door. "Buttercup, sweetie," she called. "Milking time. I brought a helper, too." She stepped in and beckoned Ivard to follow.

Ivard stepped forward, carrying the tub.