“I know,” faltered the little woman. “You was thinkin’ of--Alma.”
“She wouldn’t do it--Alma wouldn’t!” retorted the man sharply, almost before his wife had ceased speaking.
“No, no, of course not; but--Nathan, ye don’t think Alma’d ever be--ashamed of us, do ye?”
“’Course not!” asserted Nathan, but his voice shook. “Don’t ye worry, Mary,” he comforted. “Alma ain’t a-goin’ ter do no kerrectin’ of us.”
“Nathan, I--I think that’s ‘co-rectin’,’” suggested the woman, a little breathlessly.
The man turned and gazed at his wife without speaking. Then his jaw fell.
“Well, by sugar, Mary! You ain’t a-goin’ ter begin it, be ye?” he demanded.
“Why, no, ‘course not!” she laughed confusedly. “An’--an’ Alma wouldn’t.”
“’Course Alma wouldn’t,” echoed her husband. “Come, it’s time ter shut up the house.”
The date of Alma’s expected arrival was yet a week ahead.