to reply. Miss Clegg left the room, and returned not until she came with the supper. 

 "I did n't see Jathrop nowhere," she announced as she entered, "but the cow 's goin' on jus' awful." 

 "Jathrop 's gone for the—" 

 "Well, I am glad. The butcher 's the only one 's 'd ought to go near her. I persume I c'd 'a' milked her, 'n' 'f she 'd been my cow I w'd 'a' milked her, but bein' 's she wa'n't mine I did n't see no good 'n' sufficient reason why I sh'd so much 's take a interest in her. I will own 't I did sorter ache to see her kick Jathrop into kingdom come, but the chances are 't he'd 'a' come out alive, 'n' so it would n't 'a' paid in the end. I 'll be glad to hear her stop mooin', though. I was sick o' the noise afore she begun, 'n' she 's kep' right on ever since." 

 Mrs. Lathrop ate a little and drank a little, looking blandly non-committal as she did so. Miss Clegg rocked vigorously. 

 "I can't get that plaster out o' my head," she continued presently. "I wonder if it won't give you rheumatism anyhow. Deacon White got rheumatism from movin' into a house where the plaster was damp, 'n' it stands to reason it'd be worse yet if it's tied right tight to you. I must say 't I agree with Mrs. Macy; I think you'd ought to have old Dr. Carter. O' course it'll cost suthin' to have him over from Meadville, but it'll cost you a sight more to have a wooden leg up from the city. There ain't no sense in tryin' to save money over a kick, Mrs. Lathrop, 'n' what's the good o' your economizin' all these years 'f you can't indulge yourself a little when you want to? That's what Mr. Shores said to me—jus' them very self-same words—when he wanted to sell me that fancy green 'n' yellow parasol 's he had up f'r Easter. I didn't want no parasol, though; it had a pointed-nose dog f'r a handle, 'n' I didn't fancy myself goin' to church hangin' on to a dog's nose, even 'f it was silver-plated. I ain't no great admirer o' green 'n' yellow, neither, 'n' so I told him flat 'n' plain 't I wa'n't through my economizin' years yet. He sold the parasol to Mrs. Jilkins, 'n' she let it down on her thumb 'n' come nigh to breakin' her thumb. She says she won't carry no parasol 's she can't shut down without riskin' her thumb 'n' she 's goin' to give it to her niece over to Meadville. She says her niece is awful womans-rightsy, 'n' can swing dumb-bells 'n' look over backward 't her own heels, 'n' that parasol 'll be nothin' but child's play to her. I ain't no sympathy with such views myself—I never was one as believed overmuch in womans' rights. 

 Prev. P 47/102 next