She drew a long breath.
“Well, ye see, I--I hain’t had time, Hezekiah,” she rejoined apologetically.
“Humph!” muttered the old man as they turned and walked back to their seats.
For a time neither spoke, then Hezekiah Warden cleared his throat determinedly and faced his wife.
“Look a’ here, Abby,” he began, “I’m agoin’ ter say somethin’ that has been ‘most tumblin’ off’n the end of my tongue fer mor’n a year. Jennie an’ Frank are good an’ kind an’ they mean well, but they think ’cause our hair’s white an’ our feet ain’t quite so lively as they once was, that we’re jest as good as buried already, an’ that we don’t need anythin’ more excitin’ than a nap in the sun. Now, Abby, didn’t ye want ter go ter that fair with the folks ter-day? Didn’t ye?”
A swift flush came into the woman’s cheek.
“Why, Hezekiah, it’s ever so much cooler here, an’--” she paused helplessly.
“Humph!” retorted the man, “I thought as much. It’s always ‘nice an’ cool’ here in summer an’ ‘nice an’ warm’ here in winter when Jennie goes somewheres that you want ter go an’ don’t take ye. An’ when ’t ain’t that, you say you ‘hain’t had time.’ I know ye! You’d talk any way ter hide their selfishness. Look a’ here, Abby, did ye ever ride in them ’lectric-cars? I mean anywheres?”
“Well, I hain’t neither, an’, by ginger, I’m agoin’ to!”
“Oh, Hezekiah, Hezekiah, don’t--swear!”