“Yes; Jim mentioned ’em, too,” acknowledged Nathan gloomily. “But he said that even them wan’t half so bad as his riggin’ up nights. He said that Katy said that after the ‘toil of the day’ they must ’don fresh garments an’ come ter the evenin’ meal with minds an’ bodies refreshed.’”
“Yes; an’, Nathan, ain’t my black silk--”
“Ahem! I’m a-thinkin’ it wa’n’t me that said ‘ain’t’ that time,” interposed Nathan.
“Dear, dear, Nathan!--did I? Oh, dear, what will Alma say?”
“It don’t make no diff’rence what Alma says, Mary. Don’t ye fret,” returned the man with sudden sharpness, as he rose to his feet. “I guess Alma’ll have ter take us ’bout as we be--’bout as we be.”
Yet it was Nathan who asked, just as his wife was dropping off to sleep that night:--
“Mary, is it three o’ them collars I’ve got, or four?--b’iled ones, I mean.”
At five o’clock the next afternoon Mrs. Kelsey put on the treasured black silk dress, sacred for a dozen years to church, weddings, and funerals. Nathan, warm and uncomfortable in his Sunday suit and stiff collar, had long since driven to the station for Alma. The house, brushed and scrubbed into a state of speckless order, was thrown wide open to welcome the returning daughter. At a quarter before six she came.
“Mother, you darling!” cried a voice, and Mrs. Kelsey found herself in the clasp of strong young arms, and gazing into a flushed, eager face. “Don’t you look good! And doesn’t everything look good!” finished the girl.
“Does it--I mean, do it?” quavered the little woman excitedly. “Oh, Alma, I am glad ter see ye!”