“Why, I didn’t know you with your cap on,” he cried. “Take it off. No, you can’t. I will.”
To my great annoyance he snatched off my cap.
“To be sure! I’m right,” he said, and then he put my cap on again, uncomfortably wrong, and all back: for no one can put your cap on for you as you do it yourself. “You live over yonder at the white house with the lady who is ill?”
I nodded.
“The widow lady?”
“I live with mamma,” I said shortly.
“Been very ill, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah! bad thing illness, I suppose. Never was ill, only when the wagon went over my leg.”
“Yes, sir, she has been very bad.”