"Now, father, you hadn't ought to be such a tease," said Miss Phosie, pouring out a cup of coffee for Mr. Williams.
"Phenie hadn't ought to be such an everlasting fool, then," answered her father. "You'd think she hadn't a namable thing to do, but dress up her head like a Guinea nigger's. She behaves like a year old colt, instead of a settled down old mare. Makes me sick." Cap'n Ben gave a mighty yawn, readjusted his spectacles, and betook himself again to his paper.
Miss Phosie, having finished serving her boarders, began to clear the table. Her eyes followed the two men wistfully as they left the room together. She did not wish Kenneth to go, but she would be pleased when, for lack of other company, Luther Williams would tarry longer in the kitchen, to talk to her while her father was absorbed in his paper. She wondered what had been the errand to town, for it was rarely that Mr. Williams went. Perhaps he thought he needed winter flannels; she could tell him that those he had, well mended, would last quite a while yet. She soon finished washing the few dishes, and sat down to her knitting. She was making wristlets for her father, and for Luther Williams. She kept both pairs going, and when Zerviah was present she always worked on Cap'n Ben's, which were red. Just now she preferred to work on the others, which were gray. Cap'n Ben liked lively colors, Luther Williams always chose quiet ones.
Presently the door opened and Ora came in. The pretty color was coming back to her cheeks, but she looked older, and her blue eyes had an expression in them which only a woman who has suffered, may know. "Just a little too late, ain't I, Aunt Phosie?" she said. "I see you have everything done up. I heard Mr. Williams went to town this morning, and I knew you'd be later'n usual getting through. You had two dinners to get, didn't you?"
"Oh, it wasn't a mite of trouble just to set his things on the table," returned Miss Phosie.
"Nothing is a trouble to you," said Ora. She had grown much gentler, and liked to be with her younger aunt more than formerly. "There doesn't seem to be much to do at our house," she went on. "We clear up and there's nobody to put things out of order. It's harder work having men-folks around, but I'd rather have 'em." She sighed a little.
"It must be dull for a young thing like her to spend her days with just one quiet woman," thought Miss Phosie. "Zerviah and Phenie are in the other room," she remarked to Ora. "Go in and hear the news. Zerviah's fetched quite a budget to-day."
Ora shook her head. "I don't want to, Aunt Phosie. She speaks so loud and says such things about—our needing a man about the house, and about its being wrong to hug our sorrow and waste our lives in useless repining, and all that—as if—as if I could ever forget Manny."
"She means well," responded Miss Phosie, "but she's so fond of managing other folks she can't see beyond her own ideas for 'em. Don't you mind her, Ora. You ain't wasting your life, not a mite. You've had what a good many would be thankful for, and that's the love of the man you cared for. There wasn't ever any clouds between you, and you was free to love each other all you wanted. It's a good thing to be free to do that; some never are. They have to hide their feelings from all eyes, and if the time comes that's come to you they wouldn't be free even to mourn, except in secret."
"That's true, Aunt Phosie," replied Ora. "And now that the worst has come I'm glad we did really belong to each other, and were husband and wife; that's a great comfort to me.