“Every time we send to mill, that’s four or five times a year too often, to get those papers that John will take; readin’ those vile things is the ruination of the country. I keep ’em from the children the same as if they were scorpions. As for letters, we don’t get many. Most people we care about live closer to us than the post office. You lookin’ for any?”
“I’d like to get one.”
“From that college man? I reckon he’s forgot you are in existence.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Esther said, with an indifferent show of pride.
“He was curious looking to me; the way he wore his hair was abominable.”
“He’s my friend. I’d rather not talk of him.”
“That’s no reason he’s too good to be talked about.”
“As you please.” Reaching for her hat Esther started toward the door.
“You’d better let ’lone fightin’ for him and learn some common sense. You’d never get married if men knew how little account you was. When I was your age I’d been married three years,” she said, proudly. “If you don’t want to be an old maid you’d better settle down and marry.” Esther closed the door as she uttered the last word.
“Marry? What? A plowboy, a pedler, or a washing machine agent?” That would have been her cousin’s wife’s idea.