“So do I.”
After a long silence Mrs. Bridges said—“I don’t suppose your paw’d hear to us a-takin’ her in.”
“I guess he’d hear to ’t if we would,” said Isaphene, dryly.
“Well, we can’t do’t; that’s all there is about it,” announced Mrs. Bridges, with a great air of having made up her mind. Isaphene did not reply. She was slicing potatoes to fry, and she seemed to agree silently with her mother’s decision. Presently, however, Mrs. Bridges said, in a less determined tone—“There’s no place to put her in, exceptin’ the spare room—an’ we can’t get along without that, noways.”
“No,” said Isaphene, in a non-committal tone.
Mrs. Bridges stopped chopping and looked thoughtfully out of the door.
“There’s this room openin’ out o’ the kitchen,” she said, slowly. “It’s nice an’ big an’ sunny. It ’u’d be handy ’n winter, bein’ right off o’ the kitchen. But it ain’t furnished up.”
“No,” said Isaphene, “it ain’t.”
“An’ I know your paw’d never furnish it.”
Isaphene laughed. “No, I guess not,” she said.