He had expressed a wish to talk with his housekeeper. “I've got something to tell you, Aunt Keziah,” he said weakly. “Some news for you and—and—”
“Cat's foot!” snapped Keziah briskly, “don't start in tellin' me news now. I've got my hands full as 'tis. News'll keep and you won't, if you talk another minute.”
“But this is important.”
“So are you, though you may not think so. If you don't believe it ask Grace.”
“Well,” the minister sighed. “Well, perhaps I won't tell it now. I'd rather wait until I feel stronger. You won t care, will you? It will be hard to tell and I—”
“No, no! Care? No. If it's bad news I don't want to hear it, and if it's good I can wait, I cal'late. You turn over and take a nap.”
She could manage him; it was with Grace that she had her struggle. John was safe now; he would be himself again before very long, and the girl had begun to think of his future and his reputation. She knew that gossip must be busy in the village, and, much as she wished to remain by his side, she decided that she should not do so. And then Keziah began to fulfill her agreement with Dr. Parker.
First, and bluntly, she told the girl that her leaving now was useless. The secret was out; it had been made public. Everyone knew she was in love with John and he with her. Their engagement was considered an established certainty. Grace was greatly agitated and very indignant.
“Who dared say so?” she demanded. “Who dared say we were engaged? It's not true. It's a wicked lie and—Who is responsible, Aunt Keziah?”
“Well, I suppose likely I am, much as anybody, deary.”