“Well, Jerusha and Mary Snow—that’s the one this chicken is named for—and I were like triplets, together all the time, and we knew one another’s secrets and shared all our fun and trouble. For we had our troubles, hard work a-plenty, and precious little fun except what we made, but then that’s the best kind anyway.
“Well, as I was saying, Jerusha had plenty of strings to her bow, but that didn’t make any difference to Mr. Watkins. When his wife, Maria, died, he wanted another, of course, and no one but the best was good enough, that is, to begin with. He changed his mind later and took what he could get.”
“Yes, and he got a regular Tartar, too,” supplemented Aunt ‘Liza, “just as mean as Maria was good—served him right.”
“But what was the apple tree romance, mother?” Mary voiced the impatience of the listeners.
“I’m coming to it, girlie. You know we used to get up home dramatics, and Mr. Watkins, being rather literary in his tastes, used to play on the stage with us. Jerusha was generally the star with him, and they were fine, too. I guess that’s how he came to take to Jerusha afterwards. He got used to making love to her.
“One night when Mary and I went over to Jones’s, we found Jerusha all flustered over something.
“‘It’s coming, girls, it’s coming,’ she broke out, clasping her hands and acting stage-struck.
“‘How am I to meet it—to meet it?’ She acted so tragic it half scared us.
“‘For goodness’ sake, what’s the matter?’ I guess I half screamed.
“Jerusha threw herself in a chair and laughed hysterically. Of a sudden she stopped—