“And the water’s in,” returned Aunt Jane, tartly. “Nice time to come and try to save a body’s furniture—”
“Get it out of the adjusters. They’ll be around,” said the fireman, with a grin.
“How much insurance have you, Lyddy?” demanded the aunt, when the firemen, after covering the already wet and bedraggled furniture, had clumped out in their heavy boots.
“Not a penny, Aunt Jane!” cried her niece, wildly. “I never thought of it!”
“Ha! you’re not so much like your mother, then, as I thought. She would never have overlooked such a detail.”
“I know it! I know it!” moaned Lyddy.
“Now, you stop that, Aunt Jane!” exclaimed the bolder ’Phemie. “Don’t you hound Lyd. She’s done fine–of course she has! But anybody might forget a thing like insurance.”
“Humph!” grunted the old lady. Then she began again:
“And what’s the matter with John?”
“It’s the shop, Aunt,” replied Lyddy. “He cannot stand the work any longer. I wish he might never go back to that place again.”