The girl crossed the room and put her arms tenderly around her mother’s neck.
“I’ll live real near you, ma, and you can come and see me every few days. Don’t let’s spoil these last few weeks by worrying,” Elizabeth said, her eyes opened to the longing expressed.
Mrs. Farnshaw was heating the oven for baking, and broke away from the sympathetic clasp to refill the roaring stove.
“These cobs don’t last a minute,” she said, and then turned to Elizabeth again. “You’ll have th’ nicest house in th’ country. My! won’t it make th’ Cranes jealous?”
“They don’t count,” Elizabeth answered. “I believe you think more of John’s house than you do of him.”
“No, I don’t, but I’m glad t’ see you doin’ so well for yourself.”
As she finished speaking, Mr. Farnshaw came into the kitchen.
“Well, pa, how do you do?” Elizabeth said, turning toward him pleasantly. She wanted to tell him of her engagement, now that she had told her mother, and she wanted to be at peace with him.
Mr. Farnshaw mumbled a curt reply and, picking up the empty basket standing beside the stove, went out of the house, slamming the door behind him significantly.
“I wanted to tell him myself,” Elizabeth said with a half-shamed look in her mother’s direction. “I’m glad all men aren’t like that.”