“If you knew everything–if you knew everything!” said she.
Joe, being young, and feeling younger, could not see how she was straining to come to a common footing of understanding with him, to reach a plane where his sympathy would be a balm. He could not realize that her orbit of thought was similar to his own, that she was nearer a mate for him, indeed, than for hairy-limbed, big-jointed Isom Chase, with his grizzled hair and beard.
“It was all over a little piece of ribbon I bought yesterday when I took the eggs up to the store,” she explained. “I got two cents a dozen more than I expected for them, and I put the extra money into a ribbon–only half a yard. Here it is,” said she, taking it from the cupboard; “I wanted it to wear on my neck.”
She held it against her swathed throat with a little unconscious play of coquetry, a sad smile on her lips. 62
“It’s nice, and becoming to you, too,” said Joe, speaking after the manner of the countryside etiquette on such things.
“Isom said I ought to have put the money into a package of soda, and when I wouldn’t fuss with him about it, that made him madder and madder. And then he–he–did that!”
“You wouldn’t think Isom would mind ten cents,” said Joe.
“He’d mind one cent,” said she in bitter disdain. “One cent–huh! he’d mind one egg! Some people might not believe it, but I tell you, Joe, that man counts the eggs every day, and he weighs every pound of butter I churn. If I wanted to, even, I couldn’t hide away a pound of butter or a dozen of eggs any more than I could hide away that stove.”
“But I don’t suppose Isom means to be hard on you or anybody,” said Joe. “It’s his way to be close and stingy, and he may do better by you one of these days.”
“No, he’ll never do any better,” she sighed. “If anything, he’ll do worse–if he can do any worse. I look for him to strike me next!”