“Stranger things than that have happened,” returned the spinster. “Men are sich determined critters, there ain’t no getting rid of them when once they get sot on a thing—a body has to say yes, whether or no.”
“Who is the man that torments you so much?” Jane inquired, laughing merrily.
“No, you don’t—you can’t surprise no secrets out of me!” Aunt Polly turned away her face in pretended confusion, to Jane’s great amusement; at length she recovered, and taking the squash from the table, where she had placed it, she held it towards the old lady.
“How are you off for pies, Miss Derwent?”
“Wal, pretty well; we’ve got lots of strawberries and raspberries, and some dried pumpkin.”
“Dried punken!” repeated the old maid, with awful disdain; “jest try that are squash; dried punken, indeed! This’ll just finish you up—now get me a knife, and I’ll have it sliced in short order.”
The day wore on in busy employment for all, though Mary’s heart was full of evil forebodings, which she did not breathe aloud, and she heard little of the running stream of talk which Aunt Polly kept up all the while her hands were so actively employed.
At length the old maid drew Jane mysteriously into the inner room, and pointed to a bundle laying on the bed.
“There’s a present for you, Janey,” she whispered; “don’t say nothing about it. You’re just as welcome as can be.”
Before Jane could express her thanks, Aunt Polly had untied the package, and held up before the astonished girl a small patch-work baby quilt, valuable as a curiosity, and with a rising sun in gay colors forming the centre.