“No, but she’s so near like one, and she’s a splendid cook, and—”
“Well, I shan’t send him to Maggie,” cut in Mrs. James D. Blaisdell with emphasis. “Poor Maggie’s got quite enough on her hands, as it is, with that father of hers. Besides, she isn’t a Blaisdell at all.”
“And she couldn’t come and cook and take care of us near so much, either, could she,” plunged in Benny, “if she took this man ter feed?”
“That will do, Benny,” admonished his mother, with nettled dignity. “You forget that children should be seen and not heard.”
“Yes’m. But, please, can’t I be heard just a minute for this? Why don’t ye send the man ter Uncle Frank an’ Aunt Jane? Maybe they’d take him.”
“The very thing!” cried Miss Flora Blaisdell. “I wouldn’t wonder a mite if they did.”
“Yes, I was thinking of them,” nodded her sister-in-law. “And they’re always glad of a little help,—especially Jane.”
“Anybody should be,” observed Mr. James Blaisdell quietly.
Only the heightened color in his wife’s cheeks showed that she had heard—and understood.
“Here, Benny,” she directed, “go and show the gentleman where Uncle Frank lives.”