"Fust they believe in stuffin' a body; then it's the fashion ter starve folks. One doctor says meat victuals is the only fit eatin' for human bein's an' the next one wants you should put on a nosebag an' eat horse feed. Humph! Reminds me of silly George Putnam and his pig."
"What about them, Mrs. Beaseley?" asked Janice, who was always amused by the widow's speeches.
"Why, George had a right likely shote give to him one year, but it turned out a runt, he fed it so queer. The critter seemed allus squealin' for something to eat, an' my Charles asked him:
"'George, how d'you feed that critter?'
"'Why,' says silly George, 'I kalkerlate ter feed him ev'ry other day.'
"'Ye do?' says Charles. 'What's that for? Don't you suppose the pig gits hungry jest as often as you do?'
"'Ye-es—that may be,' says George. 'But I like my side-meat 'ith a streak o' lean an' a streak o' fat.'
"Why, goo' mornin', Mr. Cross Moore! How's your lady this mornin'?" concluded the widow as the selectman, whom Janice had seen coming up the hill, stopped beside the car.
"She's 'bout the same, Miz' Beaseley. Morning, Janice! Which way you going?"
"I am going your way, Mr. Moore," the girl said with a sudden feeling of timidity. "I—I was coming to see you."