"And who is Florence?"
Mrs. Osgood's curiosity must have been very great to induce her to listen to the faulty grammar and country pronunciations. But she listened to the story from beginning to end,—Joe, and Joe's wife, and all the children, figuring largely in it.
"And if Granny Kenneth'd had any sense, she would a bundled 'em all off to the poor-house. One of the neighbors here did want to take Florence; but law! what a time they made! She's a peart, stuck-up thing!"
If Florence had heard this verdict against all her small industries and neatnesses and ladylike habits, her heart would have been almost broken. But there are a great many narrow-minded people in this world, who can see no good except in their own way.
Mrs. Osgood made no comments. Presently the carriage was repaired, and the accidental guests departed. They had a long ride yet to take. George asked if there was any nearer way of getting to Seabury.
"There's a narrer road just below Granny Kenneth's,—the little shanty by the crick. It's ruther hard trav'lin', but it cuts off nigh on ter three miles."
"I think we had better take it," said George. "Even that will give us a five-miles drive."
So they passed the cottage again. This time Hal was feeding the chickens; Kit and Charlie swinging upon an old dilapidated apple-tree; and Florence sat by the open window, sewing.
"There's your princess!" exclaimed George with a laugh.
Florence colored a little at beholding the party again.