Martha bowed. "'Thank you—thank you, sir, she said, your kindness I never shall forget!' All the same, I'll tell you this, right now, Sammy, I certaintly got to set to an' begin puttin' in some modren improvements onto me, for I begun to notice, I don't really suit nobody but you, the way I am. I'm too old-fashioned or somethin', to please, nowadays. Quite a lotta people has delicately hinted to me, lately, I'd be a whole lot more satisfactory, if I was altogether differnt. There's my childern. As I just told you, I don't seem to be the style o' mother they'd select at all, if they was out shoppin' for mothers, an' had what Mrs. Sherman calls Carte Blanche with 'em—whoever she is. An' it's the same with Ma. I never really did suit Ma for a daughter-in-law from the start. She could tell you (an' does) a hunderd ways I'd be better, with alterations, only I been that took up, tendin' to her wants, ever since you an' me was married, I ain't had time to put the alterations in. An', then, there's——"
"Say, Martha," interposed Sam, lowering his voice to an almost inaudible whisper, "here's Mrs. Peckett coming up the walk. If you've got anything 'round you don't want advertised all over the place, you'd better put it out of sight, hadn't you?"
For answer Mrs. Slawson leaned over, plucked up the material next her, at its nearest available point, and gave its length a flourish that sent it billowing conspicuously half across the floor. Sam shrugged.
"My, my!" ejaculated Martha, looking around, and speaking with loud distinctness, "if here ain't Mrs. Peckett!"
Through the open, screened window, Mrs. Peckett inquired, with elephantine playfulness (physically, she was built on almost as heroic a scale as Martha herself), "Got any place for a tired little girl to rest?"
"Sure we have," said Mrs. Slawson. "Come right along in!"
Another moment, and Mrs. Peckett had obeyed.
"Take that chair there, the one alongside the table, with the cushion in. It's the comfortablest we got—just suits that holla in your back, that, Ma says, hers always needs restin'—an' Ma's a champeean on restin'. She knows how to do it in seven differnt languages. You'll excuse my goin' on with what I'm doin'? I can talk while I work."
Mrs. Peckett lowered herself gradually into the proffered chair with the air of one accustomed to distrust the good intentions of furniture.
"Certainly, I'll excuse you. What you doing?"