"I guess you've had a nice breakfast," she said in a minute, "only you'd ought to eat more."
"I didn't feel much—" said Mrs. Lathrop.
"Well, you 'd ought to. How's your leg? C'n you feel it this mornin'?"
"Oh, yes, I c'n—"
"Then it's all right so far. But I hear last night 's you c'n feel a leg even after it 's been cut off. Mrs. Macy says she heard of a man 's suffers awful yet in a leg as he lost in a planin'-mill over thirty years ago."
"My Lord alive!" cried Mrs. Lathrop.
"So you see you ain't sure whether your leg 's still there or not. However, I 've got to go, leg or no leg. I told Mrs. Macy I 'd be at the minister's at half-past eight to boil 'em all fresh 'n' I ain't got more 'n time to make it easy. I 'll be home to get you some dinner."
"I wish I knew where Ja—"
Susan stopped in the act of bending for the tray.
"Mrs. Lathrop!—Mrs. Lathrop! Do you mean to say 's you don't know a blessin' when it 's throwed right square in your face like yesterday? Jathrop 's gone, 'n' he can't never come back, 'n' if you had ten legs you 'd ought to yield the last one o' 'em up to Heaven without a murmur out o' sheer gratitude over his bein' took. Now you lay still there 'n' don't even think such foolishness, or the Lord may lose his patience like the cow did hers, 'n' after feelin' 'n' seein' 'n' hearin' what a cow c'n do, I shouldn't feel noways inclined to rouse the Lord 'f I was you."