“Oh, and how do you like the teacher, widder?”
“I like him first-rate.”
“And Mary Ann?”
Mrs. Ross glanced about her. Then she bent over and whispered in the other woman’s ear.
“No!” exclaimed that little lady; “you don’t say so!”
“Judgin’ from appearances, it looks that way, dear,” smiled the widow. “But not a word to anyone else, Libby. I haven’t told a single soul but you.”
“It don’t seem to me that Mary Ann would take to a man like him,” said Mrs. Peeler. “He don’t seem to fit her somehow. I always thought and hoped that Bill Paisley would meet her favor, widder.”
Mrs. Ross opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again on second thought.
“My, I must get in with th’ custard,” she cried, and hurried away.
Gloss and Mary Ann entered the kitchen with Daft Davie between them.