“Bless it! No, indeed. My lamb, what kind of a cross old stick do you think I am?”
“Temperance, are you very fond of Nathan?”
“My soul!” said Temperance. “What next—Nathan?”
“Because you ought to be if you’re not,” said Mabella. “Oh, you ought to be. When a person cares about one you ought to love them—love them with all your soul. It’s so little to give in return; so——” and then Mabella was in Miss Tribbey’s arms, crying as if her heart would break.
And blustering Miss Tribbey petted her and quieted her, and got her out of the way before Vashti and Sidney entered with the dishes from the field, taking her upstairs and putting her to bed as she had done long before when Mabella was a little motherless baby.
“You lay still there,” said Temperance, pausing by the door. “You lay still there, and I’ll fetch up your tea.”
“You’re a dear,” said Mabella with a catch in her voice.
Miss Tribbey departed. Wise in her kind old fashion she asked no questions. Miss Tribbey had been young in years like Mabella once, and her heart was young yet.
“Pore girl!” said Temperance to herself, resuming the watering of her geraniums. “Pore Mabella! She ain’t got no mother.”