"Seems to me you always want to do every job 'so good it couldn't be done better,'" she grumbled. "I never saw anybody so particular as you. Ann Upton's mother ain't. Ann Upton's mother says it's wastin' time. That's the reason she can make Ann such stylish clo'es, 'cause she don't waste time. She says she does things good enough, an' if folks don't like it, they can lump it."
"Well, Mrs. Upton certaintly's got a right to her own opinion. Far be it from me to deprive her of it. But her opinion an' mine don't gee, that's all. One thing I know—if you only try to do good enough, you're goin' to get left in the end, an' don't you forget it. You can take it from me, you won't find any admirin' crowds lingerin' 'round your doorstep, young lady. Did you never hear the sayin': Leave good enough alone? Well, that's how they leave it, because everybody is hurryin' to get the fella can be depended on to do the best work for the money. If you're satisfied to do things good enough, you're goin' to be left alone, an' if you like that kind o' solitary granjer, you're welcome to it. That's all I got to say—on this subjec'."
For a time there was silence, while Martha worked industriously, and Cora fumbled along with just enough appearance of energy to escape being "hauled over the coals" for laziness. Presently, however, Mrs. Slawson paused.
"Do you know," she announced cheerfully, "I believe you'd feel a whole lot more like attendin' strickly to business if I kinda relieved you o' what you got under your apron."
Cora looked scared. "Wha-at?" she stammered.
Her mother's expression continued bland. "Yes. It won't trouble me a mite, an' it's just a-burdenin' you. Nobody can give her mind to a job when she's hankerin' after somethin' else. Is it a book, now, or what is it?"
Cora began to cry. "I think you're real mean. I ain't doin' any harm. I'm workin' all right. I can't have a single thing, but you want to see it."
"Sure you can't," admitted Martha imperturbably. "You mayn't believe it, but a mother's got a reel sorta friendly interest in her childern. If a mother keeps in touch, as Mrs. Sherman says, with her childern's minds, it saves her a lot o' keepin' in touch with their bodies, by the aid of a switch, or the flat of her hand, as the case may be. Now, your mind's on what you got under your apron, so let me get right in touch with it, like a little lady."
With a dismal wail that caused Flicker's ears to prick up apprehensively, Cora thrust her hand under her apron, and brought forth an illustrated periodical.
"Hand it over!" commanded her mother serenely.