“I didn’t mean what I said about bein’ sorry I egged you on, Emarine. I’m glad you turned her out. She’d ort to be turned out.”
Emarine put a handful of floured raisins into the mixture and stirred it all together briskly.
“Gran’ma Eliot can go talkin’ about her daughter-in-law Sidonie all she wants, Emarine. You keep a stiff upper lip.”
“I can ’tend to my own affairs,” said Emarine, fiercely.
“Well, don’t flare up so. Here comes Orville. Land, but he does look peakid!”
After supper, when her mother had gone home for the night, Emarine put on her hat and shawl.
Her husband was sitting by the fireplace, looking thoughtfully at the bed of coals.
“I’m goin’ out,” she said, briefly. “You keep the fire up.”
“Why, Emarine, its dark. Don’t choo want I sh’u’d go along?”
“No; you keep the fire up.”