Martin was silent.
Comfort began to sing a tune over her fish, interrupting herself at times with a low, quaint laugh, as though particularly well pleased with some thought.
“What’s the matter, Comfort?” asked Nelly.
“Oh, nuthin’,” was the answer; “I guess I’m not very miserable to-day, that’s all;” and off she went in a chuckle again.
“Nelly,” said Martin, after another grave pause, “you used to be a better girl than you are now. Last summer, about the time Marm Lizy died, you tried ever so hard to be good, and you improved very much indeed.”
“I know it,” said Nell, a little sadly, “and I would be good now, if it wasn’t for Melindy Porter. Ever since I’ve been to school I’ve felt hard and wicked. She torments and worries me so, that I think sometimes there’s no use in tryin’ to be good at all. I do and say wrong things, just when I don’t mean to, all along o’ Melindy.”
"If you and Melindy were friends, you wouldn’t feel so, would you?"
“I s’pose not, but who wants to be friends with anybody like that?” was the ready retort.
"Still, you would rather be friends than enemies, Nell, wouldn’t you? You would prefer that this little girl"—
“Big one, ever so big,” interrupted Nelly, quickly.