“Then I'll never dare do it,” said the Harvester, “because I can't keep house without you.”
“Where's your own woman?” promptly inquired Granny.
“She can't leave her people. Her grandmother is sick.”
“Grandmother your foot!” cried the old woman. “I've been hearing that song and dance from the neighbours, but you got to fool younger people than me on it, David. When did any grandmother ever part a pair of youngsters jest married, for months at a clip? I'd like to cast my eyes on that grandmother. She's a new breed! I was as good a mother as 'twas in my skin to be, and I'd like to see a child of mine do it for me; and as for my grandchildren, it hustles some of them to re-cog-nize me passing on the big road, 'specially if it's Peter's girl with a town beau.”
The Harvester laughed. The old lady leaned toward him with a mist in her eyes and a quaver in her voice, and asked softly, “Got ary friend that could help you, David?”
The man looked straight ahead in silence.
“Bamfoozle all the rest of them as much as you please, lad, but I stand to you in the place of your ma, and so I ast you plainly——got ary friend that could help?”
“I can think of no way in which any one possibly could help me, dear,” said the Harvester gently. “It is a matter I can't explain, but I know of nothing that any one could do.”
“You mean you're tight-mouthed! You COULD tell me just like you would your ma, if she was up and comin'; but you can't quite put me in her place, and spit it out plain. Now mebby I can help you! Is it her fault or yourn?”
“Mine! Mine entirely!”