“They’d git married if they were. Girls always do. But boys often have better sense. Ours have, anyhow.”
“We got married,” ventured John.
“Well—of course!” said Betsy, choking him.
But the thing was in her mind all the week. There seemed danger. The next Sunday, at the table, she said:
“Look here! Why don’t some of yous git—git—married?”
Her hand shook as she dealt out the gravy and waited for their answer.
They looked from one to the other. No one knew.
“Funny,” laughed Ben, “but I never thought of it.”
“Nor I,” said Bart.
“Hanged if I know,” piped Fred. “Don’t see no girls like you—”