"It was pretty cunning of her to give away the silk things she set such a store by. She washed 'em all out herself and run new ribbons in them, and then went and laid them out on Judidy's bed, with her eyes full of tears because she was parting with them. She found out that Judidy had set her heart on silk underwear for her wedding outfit, and she thought it all out that she had ought to give them to her. 'I have about everything I want, Grandma,' she said, 'and I've had a summer's wear out of them.' She don't exaggerate nothing much, that she does."
"She's been pretty plucky, the way she took right hold helping you in the kitchen. She's helped me, too. When we was getting in the hay, and Zeckal was busy all the time she mixed up the hog's vittles and fed the hens, and carted big pails of water around. Faith, Hope, and Charity, they've been squealing considerable to-night, I notice. I guess they kinder feel the absence of a friend."
"You remember the first night she come, Father? You was kind o' disappointed in her."
"So was you, but you didn't let on nothing."
"You said that you kinder hoped that John's girl was going to be a little more like folks."
Grandfather chuckled.
"Did I?" he said. "Well, she turned out to be a good deal more like folks than most people ever gets to be."
"There," she said, "I'm most always able to be philosophical about everything, but to tell the truth, I don't know how I am going to be able to get along without that child."
"Well—" Grandfather took off his spectacles and wiped them carefully before he transferred his attention to the process of mopping his forehead—"well, I don't know how I'm going to get along without her, either," he said.