"Do you mean she cannot cook, Alvin? Or wash? Or bake?"
"She could," said Alvin. "She could if she wanted to. But she doesn't like it."
"Doesn't like it!" As well might one say that Bessie did not like to sleep or eat or breathe! Sarah Ann's own breath was quite taken away. She shook her head ponderously, certain that either she or Alvin was going crazy. Then a question occurred to Sarah Ann. She had really a delicate sense of propriety; if she had stopped to think, she would not have asked the question. But it was out before she could restrain herself. "You will then bring your pop home from the poorhouse, I suppose, Alvin?"
Alvin blushed. He did not like to have any one mention his father.
"Father is not in the poorhouse because he is poor. He is there because he has lost his mind."
"Ach, Alvin, he is better, indeed, he is better! I was at the poorhouse to help with a prayer meeting, and, indeed, he is almost himself, Alvin."
Alvin rose from his seat on Sarah Ann's bench. The conversation had taken a turn he did not like.
"I could not have pop with Bessie," he insisted. "Pop could easily become violent."
When he had left her, Sarah Ann sat paralyzed. Her whole soul longed for the listening ear of Susannah Kuhns, but as yet her body had not gathered strength enough to transport itself to Susannah's house. Mercifully, the fates arranged that Susannah should observe the departing Alvin and should hurry over as fast as her feet could carry her. Susannah liked to hear Sarah Ann tell of the strange events of which she read, of the man whose head was turning into the head of a lion, of the dog who had learned to talk, of the woman who put glass into her husband's pies. But Susannah loved better to hear Sarah Ann tell of Alvin.
Now Susannah stood with arms akimbo, with shakes of head, with astonished clapping of lips together.