Lucas Pritchett drove into the yard with the two-seated buckboard about nine o’clock the next forenoon. And, wonders of wonders! his mother sat on the front seat beside him.
’Phemie ran out in a hurry. Lyddy was getting ready to go to the vendue. She wanted to bid in that Dutch oven–and some other things.
“Why, Mrs. Pritchett!” exclaimed the younger Bray girl, “you are welcome! You haven’t been here for an age.”
Mrs. Pritchett looked pretty grim; but ’Phemie found it was tears that made her eyes wink so fast.
“I ain’t never been here but onct since you gals came. And I’m ashamed of myself,” said “Maw” Pritchett. “I hope you’ll overlook it.”
“For goodness’ sake! how you talk!” gasped ’Phemie.
“Is it true you gals have saved that poor old critter from the farm?” demanded Mrs. Pritchett, earnestly, and letting the tears run unchecked down her fat cheeks.
“Why–why—”
“Widder Harrison, she means,” grunted Lucas. “It all come out yesterday at church. The widder told about it herself. The parson got hold of it, and he put it into his sermon. And by cracky! some of those folks that treated ye so mean at the schoolhouse, Saturday night, feel pretty cheap after what the parson said.”
“And if my Sairy ever says a mean word to one o’ you gals–or as much as looks one,” cried Mother Pritchett, “big as she is an’,–an’, yes–old as she is, I’ll spank her!”