“Who lives on the other side of us, Cousin Rindy?”
“The Dove-Hales. The Craig-Hales live the other side of town.”
“I saw a darling little boy in there.”
“Billy? Yes, he is a dear. We all call him Dovey. Now put away your hat and coat and help me pare these apples. We’re going to have a Brown Betty for dinner.”
As Ellen turned to hang up her hat and coat she stopped to ask, “Is that woman always in the store?”
“Not always; she’s generally in the post-office,” Miss Rindy smiled, “and she won’t like it if you interrupt her when she’s getting dinner or about to sit down to supper.”
“But the post-office, isn’t it always expected that there will be some one there to wait on you?”
“It isn’t what you expect, it is what Maria thinks about it. Her affairs are much more important than the government’s. A batch of biscuits that might burn is more to be considered than all the letters you or I might write. But don’t let’s find fault with Maria; she has about all she can do to run her house, the post-office, and, often, the store. Mil Perry is a lazy lout and piles all he can upon her thin shoulders. It must be trying to have your biscuits burn up just because some one wants a penny post-card. Get your apron, Ellen, before you sit down.”
CHAPTER III
VIOLINS AND DOVES