“Yes,” Arden agreed. “Let’s go.”
“And enough of such a strange woman,” added Sim as they walked away from the smokehouse.
“She is strange,” Arden agreed. “But I feel sorry for her.”
“So do I, in a way. But I feel a lot more sorry for Granny Howe. She takes it standing up. This creature whines and moans.”
“She does,” Arden admitted. “But different people have a different way of taking adversity. Granny is sweet and serene.”
“And Viney Tucker is bitter—but not sweet. Oh, well, it takes all sorts to make a world. This will be something to tell Terry and Dot, won’t it?”
“Indeed it will.”
“I wonder why she comes to such a lonesome smelly place as the old smokehouse to brood over her troubles?”
“It must bring back the days when she was a girl,” suggested Arden. “I’ve heard my father, who was born on a farm, tell how they used to smoke hams and bacon in a little house like that one.” She looked back toward it. There was no sign of Viney Tucker. She had shut herself in the strange place. “Probably,” went on Arden, “Viney used to help smoke the hams out here. They must have had a delicious flavor.”
“Not like the chemically prepared hams we have to eat,” Sim surmised. “Moselle was saying, only yesterday, that she wished she had a Smithfield razor-back ham to bake with cloves for Christmas.”