“Strictly fresh, them eggs is, too,” he said. “Picked right out o’ the hay last night. It’s one thing to get fresh eggs, but it’s a different thing to get strictly fresh!”
He picked up one of the eggs and balanced it on the points of his fingers.
“Look at that!” he invited. “Nice, clean, white egg. D’ye notice the shape of that egg?”
“Yes.”
“Then notice them in the basket,” he said, pointing to the wagon. “They’s all the same shape. You can depend on ’em lady.”
“Suppose I put it this way,” smiled Freda. “What are they worth a dozen?”
“I’m not saying what they’re worth, lady, but—”
At this juncture the dialogue was interrupted by a short, florid-faced woman, with big, wide, blue eyes, who recognized Freda and came waddling toward her.
“Well, well, Freda,” she began, putting down her basket. “I don’t know when I’ve seen you. I always like to see you. It always makes me think of poor Jennie. Poor Jennie always liked you, poor child! Even when she could hardly sit up she’d always talk about you. Poor Jennie! She always sat next to you in school, didn’t she? She liked you because you said she was so pretty; and she was a pretty child, too. Just think of her and you sitting there together. Ain’t it strange how as it’s always the beautiful are taken?”
Freeing herself as soon as possible from the garrulous mother of the departed Jennie, Freda began to market in earnest. A wagon-load of meat attracted her attention first. When the farmer had finished with a group of customers, she pointed to some choice-looking mutton.