Ingua sighed deeply.
"Don't we hev to do the dishes?" she asked.
"No; Aunt Polly will come for them, by and by. All we have to do now is to enjoy your visit, which I hope you will repeat many times while I am living here."
Again the child sighed contentedly.
"I wish ye was goin' ter stay always," she remarked. "You folks is a sight nicer'n that Joselyn tribe. They kep' us stirred up a good deal till Ned—"
She stopped abruptly.
"What were the Joselyns like?" inquired Mary Louise, in a casual tone that was meant to mask her curiosity.
"Well, that's hard to say," answered Ingua thoughtfully. "Ol' Mis' Kenton were a good lady, an' ev'rybody liked her; but after she died Ann Kenton come down here with a new husban', who were Ned Joselyn, an' then things began to happen. Ned was slick as a ban'box an' wouldn't hobnob with nobody, at first; but one day he got acquainted with Ol' Swallertail an' they made up somethin' wonderful. I guess other folks didn't know 'bout their bein' so close, fer they was sly 'bout it, gen'rally. They'd meet in this summer-house, or they'd meet at our house, crossin' the river on the steppin'-stones; but when Ned came over to us Gran'dad allus sent me away an' said he'd skin me if I listened. But one day—No, I mus'n't tell that," she said, checking herself quickly, as a hard look came over her face.
"Why not?" softly asked Mary Louise.
"'Cause if I do I'll git killed, that's why," answered the child, in a tone of conviction.