Hepsey bent her head over her work and counted stitches a long time before she looked up. Then she remarked slowly:
“There’s an awful lot of sick people in the world, and I’m mighty sorry for ’em; but they’ll die, or they’ll get well. I guess I’m more sorry for people who have to go on livin’, and workin’ hard, when they’re just dyin’ for somebody to love ’em, and somebody to love, until the pain of it hurts like a wisdom tooth. No, I can’t afford to be lonesome much, and that’s a fact. So I just keep busy, and if I get too lonesome, I just go and jolly somebody that’s lonesomer than I am, and we both feel better; and if I get lonely lyin’ awake at night, I light a lamp and read Webster’s Dictionary. Try it, Jonathan; it’s a sure anti-doubt.”
“There you go again, tryin’ to change the subject, just when I thought you was goin’ to say somethin’.” 169
“But you don’t really want to marry me. I’m not young, and I’m not interestin’: one or the other you’ve just got to be.”
“You’re mighty interestin’ to me, Hepsey, anyway; and—and you’re mighty unselfish.”
“Well, you needn’t throw that in my face; I’m not to blame for bein’ unselfish. I’ve just had to be, whether I wanted or not. It’s my misfortune, not my fault. Lots of people are unselfish because they’re too weak to stand up for their own rights.” She paused—and then looked up at him, smiling whimsically, and added: “Well, well, Jonathan; see here now—I’ll think it over, and perhaps some day before—go ’way, you horrid thing! Let go my hand, I tell you. There! You’ve made me drop a whole row of stitches. If you don’t run over home right now, before you’re tempted to do any more flirtin, I’ll—I’ll hold you for breach of promise.”
