“But your work, my dear. Your work! You can’t afford to let me interrupt it, I’m afraid. Your time must be so precious.”
“It seems to have been interrupted already, does it not? Sometimes we would rather sacrifice our time than our temper, don’t you think so?” and a quizzical smile crept over Mrs. Carruth’s face.
“Well, now, I hate to have you make company of me. I really do. I thought I’d just run in for a little neighborly chat and I seem to have put a stop to everything. Dear me, I didn’t think you’d mind me a mite. Are you going to sell this set of furniture? ’Taint so very much worn, is it? Only the edges are a little mite frayed. Some people mightn’t notice it, but my eyesight’s exceptional. Well, do tell me what’s goin’.”
As though fate had taken upon herself the responsibility of answering that question, the door-bell rang at the instant and when it was answered by Mammy, Mrs. Eleanor Carruth stalked into the hall. Mrs. Carruth rose to greet her. Miss Pike rose to go. If there was one person in this world of whom Jerusha Pike stood in wholesome awe it was Mrs. Eleanor Carruth, for the latter lady had absolutely no use for the former, and let her understand it. Madam Carruth, as she was often called, shook her niece’s hand, looked at her keenly for a moment and then said:
“My stars, Jenny, what ails you? You look as though you’d been blown about by a whirlwind. Oh, how do you do, Miss Pike. Just going? You’re under too high pressure, Jenny. We must ease it up a little, I guess. Good-bye, Miss Pike. My niece has always been considered a most amiable woman, hasn’t she? I think she hasn’t backbone enough at times. That is the reason I happen along unexpectedly to lend her some. Fine day, isn’t it?”
Two minutes later Miss Pike was in close confab with her friend Miss Doolittle.
Aunt Eleanor was up in her niece’s room putting in the neglected sleeve and saying:
“If I’d been in that front hall I’ll guarantee she would never have clomb those stairs. Now tell me all about this auction.”
[CHAPTER XIX—“An Auction Extraordinary”]
“My! Just look at them perfec’ly good, new window screens. It does seem a shame to sell ’em, don’t it now? They might come in real handy sometime,” cried one eager inspector of the collection of articles displayed for sale in the Carruths’ barn the following Saturday morning. That the house for which those screens had been made lay almost in ashes not a hundred feet from her, and that the chances of their ever fitting any other house, unless it should be expressly built for them, did not enter that lady’s calculations.