“Yes’m,” Tilly admitted meekly. “He fooled me.”
“You see I was right, Tilly. We always ought to have faith that the best part of our natures will conquer.”
“Yes’m; it looks so.”
“Have we some buttermilk in the refrigerator, Tilly?”
“Yes’m.”
“Then I think you might have some ready for him, if he gets too hot. I don’t think he looks very well and you might ask him if he’d like some. You might ask him now, Tilly.”
“Now?” Tilly asked, and coloured a little. “You mean right now, Mrs. Pinney?”
“Yes. It might do him good and help keep him strong for his work.”
“All right,” Tilly said, and turned toward the ice-box; but at a thought she paused. “I don’t hear the lawn-mower,” she said. “It seems to me I ain’t heard it since we began talking.”
“Perhaps he’s resting,” Mrs. Pinney suggested, but her voice trembled a little with foreboding. “We might just go out and see.”