Then she spoke.
“I never like to trouble you people about my own affairs, because, naturally, you’ve got no time to think about a humble person like me.”
“Don’t say that, Lydia,” said her brother. “Ain’t you one of us and ain’t our good your good?”
“Yes; but it’s borne in on me, Tom, we can’t live for other people. I’ve got my own life to live too. I’ve got my work, and I earn my living just as much as you do.”
“Meanwhile that sick child’s yowling her head off,” said Mary sadly.
“She said she hated me last time I went up, so I can’t go up again,” declared Mrs. Trivett, “not till she’s asleep.”
“A child’s a child,” replied the mother, “and if you’re going to take that line about ’em—”
She rose ponderously and lumbered from the room.
“You’ve hurt her feelings,” grumbled Tom. “What’s the matter with you this evening, Lydia? If anybody’s vexed you, best to have it out and not sulk over it.”
“Funny I should be in hot water with you and Polly to-night,” answered Mrs. Trivett. “But you ought to choose your words cleverer, Tom. I don’t sulk, my dear, whatever my faults.”