“You went to the Cattle Show yourself.”
“I don't care if I did. Now you march yourself upstairs and change your clothes.”
“Aw, now, Hannah. These clothes are good enough.”
“Good enough! For Christmas Day! I should think you'd be ashamed. Oh, you make me so provoked! If folks knew what I know about you—”
Kenelm interrupted, a most unusual thing for him.
“S'posin' they knew what I know about you,” he observed.
“What? What do you mean by that? What have I done to be ashamed of?”
“I don't know. I don't know what you did. I don't even know where you went. But when a person crawls down a ladder in the middle of the night and goes off somewhere with—with somebody else and don't get home until 'most mornin', then—well, then I cal'late folks might be interested if they knew, that's all.”
Hannah's face was a picture, a picture to be studied. For the first time in her life she was at a loss for words.
“I ain't askin' no questions,” went on Kenelm calmly. “I ain't told nobody and I shan't unless—unless somebody keeps naggin' and makes me mad. But I shan't change my clothes this day; and I shan't do nothin' else unless I feel like it, either.”