“Oh, you’d ought to talk about my turnin’ her out!” she burst out, furiously. “After you a-settin’ here a-quar’l’n’ with her in this very kitchen, an’ eggin’ me on! Wa’n’t she goin’ to turn you out o’ your own daughter’s home? Wa’n’t that what I turned her out fer? I didn’t turn her out, anyhow! I only told Orville this house wa’n’t big enough fer his mother an’ me, an’ that neither o’ us ’u’d knuckle-down, so he’d best take his choice. You’d ought to talk!”
“Well, if I egged you on, I’m sorry fer ’t,” said Mrs. Endey, solemnly. “Ever sence that fit o’ sickness I had a month ago, I’ve feel kind o’ old an’ no account myself, as if I’d like to let all holts go, an’ just rest. I don’t spunk up like I ust to. No, he didn’t go to Peterson’s—he’s gawn right on. My land! I wonder ’f it ain’t old gran’ma Eliot; she had a bad spell—no, he didn’t turn that corner. I can’t think where he’s goin’ to!”
She sat down with a sigh of defeat.
A smile glimmered palely across Emarine’s face and was gone. “Maybe if you’d go up in the antic you could see better,” she suggested, dryly.
“Oh, Emarine, here comes old gran’ma Eliot herself! Run an’ open the door fer ’er. She’s limpin’ worse ’n usual.”
Emarine flew to the door. Grandma Eliot was one of the few people she loved. She was large and motherly. She wore a black dress and shawl and a funny bonnet, with a frill of white lace around her brow.
Emarine’s face softened when she kissed her. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said, and her voice was tender.
Even Mrs. Endey’s face underwent a change. Usually it wore a look of doubt, if not of positive suspicion, but now it fairly beamed. She shook hands cordially with the guest and led her to a comfortable chair.
“I know your rheumatiz is worse,” she said, cheerfully, “because you’re limpin’ so. Oh, did you see the undertaker go up by here? We can’t think where he’s goin’ to. D’ you happen to know?”
“No, I don’t; an’ I don’t want to, neither.” Mrs. Eliot laughed comfortably. “Mis’ Endey, you don’t ketch me foolin’ with undertakers till I have to.” She sat down and removed her black cotton gloves. “I’m gettin’ to that age when I don’t care much where undertakers go to so long ’s they let me alone. Fixin’ fer Christmas dinner, Emarine dear?”