“Women in books is mostly bad ’uns,” said Mrs. Simpson, by this time arrayed in the old crêpe bonnet which had been bought as mourning for Len, and which she now wore as second best. “That holds good even to the Bible and the newspapers. And as for a preacher mixing himself up with them, I don’t hold with it. But being that they’re mostly dead it don’t matter so much, and judging from all accounts they was good riddance when they died.”
What a requiem over the “dear dead women” to whom so many songs have been sung!
“How that scented geranium grows! It beats all,” said Mrs. Simpson, as Mabella escorted her to the garden gate. For anyone to have let a visitor depart alone from the doorstep would have been a scandal in Dole.
“Won’t you have a slip?” said Mabella, setting down Dorothy and bending over the plant. “It’s apple scented; Lanty bought it off a pedler’s waggon over in Brixton in the spring; it has grown wonderfully.”
She broke off a branch, ran for a bit of paper, put a little ball of earth round the stem, wrapped it up and gave it to Mrs. Simpson.
“Well, it’s real generous of you to break it, Mabella; but you know the proverb, ‘A shared loaf lasts long.’”
“Yes, it’s true I’m sure,” said Mabella.
She accompanied Mrs. Simpson to the gate and held up the baby to wave good-bye.
And Mrs. Simpson sped down the road with the fleetness of foot which betokens the news bringer.