Miss Pipkin was far from being a beautiful woman. From all appearances she had never been pretty, or even good-looking. Her form had a few too many sharp angles where it should have been curved. Her face was long and thin, and now age and worry had dug deeply into the homely features, obliterating 124 the last trace of middle life. She always dressed in black, and to-day the Captain saw that her clothes were worn and faded. He moved uneasily as his quick eye took in the meaning of these signs.
“I cal’late they’re working you too hard here, Clemmie,” he said tenderly. “You’d best get away for a spell.”
“I’d like to have a rest, but I can’t leave. There’s no one to take my place.”
“Pshaw! There’s plenty who’d be glad for the place.”
“Anyhow, I ain’t got no place to go.”
“That’s what I’ve come to see you about, Clemmie.”
Miss Pipkin straightened with cold dignity, and her eyes flashed fires of warning.
“Josiah Pott! Be you proposing to me again?”
“Now, don’t get mad, Clemmie. I ain’t proposing to you,” he explained as calmly as possible. “But as I’ve said afore–––”
“I know what you’ve said, learnt it like a book. And you know what I’ve said, too. My no means NO.”