“Why, you never thought o’ takin’ her in yourself, did you?” said Isaphene, turning down the damper of the stove with a clatter. “I don’t see how anybody else ’u’d think of it when you didn’t yourself.”
“Well, don’t you think it was offul impadent in her to say that, anyhow?”
“No, I don’t. She told the truth.”
“Why ought they to think o’ ev’rybody takin’ her exceptin’ me, I’d like to know.”
“Because ev’rybody else, I s’pose, has thought of it theirselves. The neighbors have all been chippin’ in to help her for years. You never done nothin’ for her, did you? You never invited her to visit here, did you?”
“No, I never. But that ain’t no sayin’ I wouldn’t take her as quick ’s the rest of ’em. They ain’t none of ’em takin’ her in very fast, be they?”
“No, they ain’t,” said Isaphene, facing her mother with a steady look. “They ain’t a one of ’em but ’s got their hands full—no spare room, an’ lots o’ childern or their folks to take care of.”
“Hunh!” said Mrs. Bridges. She began chopping cold boiled beef for hash.
“I don’t believe I’ll sleep to-night for thinkin’ about it,” she said, after a while.
“I won’t neither, maw. I wish she wasn’t goin’ right by here.”