When she reached the house she made a circuit, and came through the garden behind towards the back door. "I don't want to see the front yard to-night!" she thought.
But she was rather ashamed of this egotism.
"And they say they'll put me in prison—oh—ow!—an old man, a good old man, a suffering son of humanity like me!" moaned Uncle Pietro.
"An old man, a good old man, a suffering son of humanity like him," repeated Granmar, shrilly, proud of this fine language.
Suddenly she brandished her lean arms. "You Denza there, with your stored-up money made from my starvation—yam!—mine, how dare you be so silent, figure of a mule? Starvation! yes, indeed. Wait and I'll show you my arms, Pietro; wait and I'll show you my ribs—yam!"
"You keep yourself covered up, Granmar," said Prudence, tucking her in; "you'll do yourself a mischief in this cold weather."
"Ahi!" said Granmar, "and do I care? If I could live to see you drowned, I'd freeze and be glad. Stored-up money! stored-up money!"
"What do you know of my money?" said Prudence. Her voice trembled a little.
"She confesses it!" announced Granmar, triumphantly.
"An old ma—an," said Pietro, crouching over Nounce's scaldino. "A good old ma—an. But—accommodate yourself."