“I wish they wouldn’t bother father about us,” said Una.
“Well, people think he ought to bother himself about you a little more. I don’t—I understand him. He’s a child in some ways himself—that’s what he is, and needs some one to look after him as bad as you do. Well, perhaps he’ll have some one before long, if all tales is true.”
“What do you mean?” asked Faith.
“Haven’t you got any idea—honest?” demanded Mary.
“No, no. What do you mean?”
“Well, you are a lot of innocents, upon my word. Why, everybody is talking of it. Your pa goes to see Rosemary West. She is going to be your step-ma.”
“I don’t believe it,” cried Una, flushing crimson.
“Well, I dunno. I just go by what folks say. I don’t give it for a fact. But it would be a good thing. Rosemary West’d make you toe the mark if she came here, I’ll bet a cent, for all she’s so sweet and smiley on the face of her. They’re always that way till they’ve caught them. But you need some one to bring you up. You’re disgracing your pa and I feel for him. I’ve always thought an awful lot of your pa ever since that night he talked to me so nice. I’ve never said a single swear word since, or told a lie. And I’d like to see him happy and comfortable, with his buttons on and his meals decent, and you young ones licked into shape, and that old cat of a Martha put in her proper place. The way she looked at the eggs I brought her to-night. ‘I hope they’re fresh,’ says she. I just wished they was rotten. But you just mind that she gives you all one for breakfast, including your pa. Make a fuss if she doesn’t. That was what they was sent up for—but I don’t trust old Martha. She’s quite capable of feeding ‘em to her cat.”
Mary’s tongue being temporarily tired, a brief silence fell over the graveyard. The manse children did not feel like talking. They were digesting the new and not altogether palatable ideas Mary had suggested to them. Jerry and Carl were somewhat startled. But, after all, what did it matter? And it wasn’t likely there was a word of truth in it. Faith, on the whole, was pleased. Only Una was seriously upset. She felt that she would like to get away and cry.
“Will there be any stars in my crown?” sang the Methodist choir, beginning to practise in the Methodist church.