Mr. Atkins regarded his questioner with stern disapproval.
“There's some things—such as chronic sassiness—some folks never get over,” he observed caustically. “Though when green hides are too fresh they can be tanned; don't forget that, young feller. Any more chatty remarks you've got to heave over? No? Well, all right; then I'd be trottin' back home if I was you. Henry G.'ll have to shut up shop if you deprive him of your valuable services too long. Good day to you.”
The driver, somewhat abashed, gathered up the reins. “I didn't mean to make you mad,” he observed. “Anything in our line you want to order?”
“No. I'm cal'latin' to go to the village myself this afternoon, and if I want any more groceries I'll order 'em then. As for makin' me mad—well, don't you flatter yourself. A moskeeter can pester me, but he don't make me mad but once—and his funeral's held right afterwards. Now trot along and keep in the shade much as you can. You're so fresh the sun might spile you.”
The boy, looking rather foolish, laughed and drove out of the yard. Seth, his arms full, went back to the kitchen. He dumped the packages and newspapers on the table and began sorting the letters.
“Here you are, Emeline,” he said. “Here's Miss Graham's mail and somethin' for you.”
“For me?” The housekeeper was surprised. “A letter for me! What is it, I wonder? Somethin' about sellin' the house maybe.”
She took the letter from him and turned to the light before opening it. Seth sat down in the rocker and began inspecting his own assortment of circulars and papers. Suddenly he heard a sound from his companion. Glancing up he saw that she was leaning against the doorpost, the open letter in her hand, and on her face an expression which caused him to spring from his chair.
“What is it, Emeline?” he demanded. “Any bad news?”
She scarcely noticed him until he spoke again. Then she shook her head.