“What's the matter? Ain't you feelin' up to the mark?”
“Oh, yes—yes; I'm feeling well enough in body. I ain't sick, if that's what you mean. I'm kind of blue and—and lonesome, that's all. I try to bear up under my burdens, but I get compressed in spirit sometimes, I can't help it. Ah, hum a day!”
She sighed and Mr. Hammond sighed also.
“You ain't the only one,” he said. “I'm bluer'n a whetstone myself, this mornin'.”
“What's the trouble?”
“Trouble? Trouble enough! Somethin' happened this mornin' that riled me all up. It—” he paused, remembering that the cause of the “rilin'” was somewhat personal, not to say delicate. “Well—well, never mind what it was,” he added. “'Twas mighty aggravatin', that's all I've got to say.”
Hannah sighed again. “Ah, hum!” she observed. “There's aggravations enough in this life. And they generally come on account of somebody else, too. There's times when I wish I didn't have any flesh and blood.”
“Hey? Good land! No flesh and blood! What do you want—bones?”
“Oh, I don't mean that. I wish I didn't have any—any relations of my own flesh and blood.”
“Humph! I don't know's you'd be any better off. I ain't got nobody and I ain't what you might call cheerful. I know what's the matter with you, though. That Kenelm's been frettin' you again, I suppose.”