Liz dropped a pan with a bang. "I'll tell you just's I tell her—there ain't goin' to be any more traipsing 'way from her work all the time like with the schoolmar'm either to Happy House nor nowhere. All them notions is settin' the girl loony goin' on with her lies and things 'bout things bein' differunt. She'll stay right to home!"
And to prevent further argument Liz' head bent meaningly toward the door.
But at that moment a shadow crossed it. Mrs. Sniggs, very gingerly, thrust a head inside. Under her arm she carried a kettle. Once in a while old Dan'l mended the village kettles.
"How d'do," snapped Liz.
But Mrs. Sniggs, with an uplift of her nose that said plainly: "I don't even see you," put her kettle near the door without a word and turned to depart. At which Liz, in a loud tone, exclaimed: "Most certainly, Miss Leavitt, we're delighted! Our Nonie can visit you up to Happy House real often!"
Liz knew and Nancy knew, by the tell-tale shadow that lingered across the threshold that Mrs. Sniggs had heard; Nancy blessed the good fortune that had brought the woman there at that moment!
Walking homeward, her mind full of plans of all she wanted to do for Nonie and Davy, Nancy with a shudder recalled the Hopworth home—and Liz. Something in the tired eyes haunted her. "Maybe," she thought with a pang of pity, "maybe she's as—starved—as Nonie!"