“You are a much better housekeeper than I ever was, Mrs. Anglesea,” she said, as they came downstairs together.
“Why wouldn’t I be? Gifts is divers. You’ve got a gift of working in silks and worsteds, and beads and things, and playing on the pianoforty, and speaking in all the lingoes of the Tower of Babel. But you can’t keep house worth a cent. And the Lord knows what would a-become of you all if it had not been for ole Aunt Lucy. Now she’s a fairish sort of a manager, though she can’t come up to me. No, ma’am! I never graduated from no college. I can’t play on nothing but the Jew’s-harp, and I can’t speak any language but what I learned at my ole mother’s knee. But, Lord! as for good housekeeping and downright useful hard working, I can whip the coat offen the back of any man or any woman going.”
“I think that few can excel you,” said Mrs. Force, as they entered the little parlor.
“You bet!” said the lady from the diggings, as she dropped heavily into an armchair and panted. “And I didn’t learn to keep house at Wild Cats’, neither! Lord, no; there wasn’t much chance to keep house in a log cabin with a dirt floor, and not even a loft or a lean-to! It was from my good ole mother I learned all I know! And little use it was to me at Wild Cats’. And, oh! when I think of the gold diggings, and my poor ole man leaving of a comfortable home to go and live in a poor shanty, and dig in the bowels of the earth for nigh eleven years to make his pile, and then to die and leave it all behind for that grand vilyan to rob me of——But there! Lord, what’s the use of thinking of it when I’ve got as fine a goose in the roaster before the kitchen fire as ever swam upon a pond, as rich a green gooseberry pie in the oven as ever was baked! And so, ole ’oman, I’ll leave yer now, ’cause I can’t trust ole Luce! She ain’t the ’oman she used to be by a long shot. She’s sort o’ getting blind, I think,” concluded the housekeeper, as she arose and left the room.
Mrs. Force sat back in her chair to rest after her tour of the house and yard.
While thus resting she heard the sound of carriage wheels, and then a gay bustle before the front door, the voices of Wynnette and Elva mingled with the voices of a lady and gentleman, the laughing of a child, the crowing of a baby, and the barking of a dog.
Presently the hall door opened and all this merry confusion of sounds rolled into the hall and into the drawing room.
And before Mrs. Force could arise from her chair to go and see what could be the matter, her door was suddenly thrown open and Wynnette, all aglow with excitement, burst into the room, exclaiming:
“Oh, mamma! It is Natalie! Dear Natalie and—and two babies! Dr. Ingle brought them in his gig, and he is only waiting to speak to you, to leave them here while he goes his round among his patients, and then he will call and take them home! But, oh, mamma, I want you to make him promise to come back and stay to dinner and spend the evening—will you? Oh, mamma, Natty is looking so lovely, and her babies are just heavenly!”
“My dear, impetuous Wynnette, stop and take breath! Of course Natalie and her children must spend the day, and the doctor must return to dinner. Come! I will go to them,” said Mrs. Force, as she arose and went into the drawing room, followed by the delighted Wynnette.