"An' we would, too, of course.
"An' as far as that's concerned, there's a good many other kinds of 'less days that I'm thinkin' wouldn't hurt none of us. How about a fretless day an' a worryless day? Wouldn't they be great? An' only think what a talkless day'd mean in some households I could mention. Oh, of course, present comp'ny always accentuated," she hastened to add with a sly chuckle, as Mrs. McGuire stirred into sudden resentment.
"Humph!" subsided Mrs. McGuire, still a little resentfully.
"An' I'm free to confess that there's some kinds of 'less days that we've already got plenty of," went on Susan, after a moment's thoughtful pause. "There is folks that take quite enough workless days, an' laughless days, an' pityless days, an' thankless days. My lan', there ain't no end to them kind, as any one can see. An' there was them heatless days last winter—I guess no one was hankerin' for more of THEM. Oh, 'course I understand that that was just preservation of coal, an' that 'twas necessary, an' all that. An' that's another thing, too—this preservation business. I'd like to add a few things to that, an' make 'em preserve in fault-findin', an' crossness, an' backbitin', an' gossip, as well as in coal, an' sugar, an' wheat, an' beef."
Mrs. McGuire gave a short laugh.
"My goodness, Susan Betts, if you ain't the limit, an' no mistake! I s'pose you mean CONservation."
"Heh? What's that? Well, CONservation, then. What's the difference,
anyway?" she scoffed a bit testily. Then, abruptly, her face changed.
"But, there! this ain't settlin' what I'm going to do with Daniel
Burton," she finished with a profound sigh.
"Do with him?" puzzled Mrs. McGuire.
"Yes." Susan picked up the silver spoon and began indifferently to polish it. "'Tain't no use for me to be doin' all this. Daniel Burton won't know whether he's eatin' with a silver spoon or one made of pewter. No more will he retire to a life of ease an' laxity with his paint-brushes—unless they declarate peace to-morrow mornin'."
"You don't mean—he'll stay in the store?"