“I wouldn’t if it were not so near Christmas, and I shall have no money for remembrance if I do not sell off the little produce we have.”
“Well, I’d rather forego a remembrance than have you frozen stiff in the act of presenting a cabbage-head to an indifferent public, while your very utterances crystallized on the frosty air and left you a touching monument to the ills of labor.”
“Let me go, sister,” exclaimed Gilbert. “I think it is time you let me bear a little hardship.”
“Indeed it is,” interposed Elsie. “You are spoiling the lad by forgetting that if he lives long enough he will be a man some time.”
“Never fear! He will live long enough to see you a sharp-tongued old maid,” ejaculated Gilbert, who occasionally winced under Elsie’s raillery.
“That doesn’t frighten me a bit! I never saw a sharp tongued old maid who didn’t have the right of way everywhere she went. Try again, Gilbert. Your picture is not half dismal enough.”
“Hush, children!” interferred Margaret, laying a hand on the hand of each. “Suppose I accept your proposition and let Gilbert take my place to-morrow!”
“Yes, and the rest of the winter,” said Gilbert earnestly. “It is too hard for you. I’ve noticed you were growing thin under it.”
“And I too,” added Elsie. “I should have said so before, but you have such a desperately calm heroism about you that it takes more than usual bravery to remonstrate with you.”
“Desperately calm is an admirable expression, Elsie,” said Margaret with a smile, “and now that you have exhibited so much bravery, I suppose there is nothing left for me but to succumb.”