"That's not the way Aunt Phenie talks," answered Ora. "She says if we put ourselves out to accommodate them they'd ought to be satisfied with what they can get."
"We ain't putting ourselves out so very much, and if we are we're doing it in order to earn their money," replied Miss Phosie. "I guess they'll be satisfied, and I don't see the use of talking in that stiff-necked way. The niece will be nice company for you, Ora."
"She won't be then," returned Ora with a quick movement of her spoon. "I can get along without the Highlanders as well as they can without me."
"You hadn't ought to talk that way, Ora," Miss Phosie continued her reproof. "I realize that us natives haven't so much in common with city folks, and yet I'm perfectly willing to be polite to them when they are to me. I haven't a doubt but what they'd treat us well if we went to where they live. I don't believe in being so stand-offish as some are."
Ora made no reply but continued to stir the butter and sugar vigorously.
"We don't know their ways and they don't know ours," Miss Phosie went on, "and while maybe we can't be as intimate with them as we can be with those we've been brought up with, I don't see why we can't be polite and friendly like your grandpap is. Everybody likes and respects him."
"I don't want to be liked and respected except by them I like and respect," retorted Ora obstinately.
"There comes Zerviah Hackett," said Miss Phosie. "She'll want to know everything I suppose. Well, I can't stop to talk. She'll have to go to Phenie."
Miss Zerviah Hackett was the newsmonger of the place. Not an ill-natured gossip at all; quite the contrary, but nothing went on that her vigilant eye did not observe; nothing was planned about which she did not have an opinion. They were often good opinions too, just as her advice was good, and her views of life sound. But, as Miss Phosie often plaintively said: "Zerviah can't even see you darn a stocking without telling you how it ought to be done." Miss Hackett was not the sharp-eyed, angular woman her name would suggest, but was plump and fair, though possessed of a voice which shrilled out like a steamboat whistle, in striking contrast to the unusually pleasant tones of her neighbors. She was a small person, though one whose presence could not be ignored. She now entered the kitchen without knocking,—all had that privilege when they came to Cap'n Ben's,—and throwing off her shawl, she began: "Busy getting ready for your boarders, are you, Phosie? Well, I hear they're coming to-day. I hope Thad Eaton won't be sot by the ears when Miss Elliott gets here. He does hate to have women folks interfering while he's building. It's going to be a right sightly cottage, he says, but I could have told Miss Elliott she'd be kept awake nights by the noise, so near the water."
"She's been here before. She knows what it's like, Zerviah," said Miss Phosie.