“Won't you step in and sit down?”
“Well, I don't keer ef I do a few minutes. I feel like to drop. Do you do the cooking while you maam's gone?”
“No, she baked up enough to last before she went away.”
“You hain't got any gingerbread in the house?” asked Mrs. Payson, with subdued eagerness. “I always did say Mis' Forbes beat the world at makin' gingerbread.”
“I'm very sorry, Mrs. Payson, but we ate the last for supper last night.”
“Oh, dear!” sighed the old lady, “I feel sort of faint—kinder gone at the stomach. I didn't have no appetite at dinner, and I s'pose it don't agree with me walkin' so fur on an empty stomach.”
“Couldn't you eat a piece of pie?” asked Betsy sympathizingly.
“Well,” said the old lady reflectively, “I don't know but I could eat jest a bite. But you needn't trouble yourself. I hate to give trouble to anybody.”
“Oh, it won't be any trouble,” said Betsy cheerfully.
“And while you're about it,” added Mrs. Payson, “ef you have got any of that cider you give me when I was here before, I don't know but I could worry down a little of it.”