Quick as thought she snatched up the pin-cushion and tidy.
“You don’t have these,” she said. “Your friend what’s going to be married won’t have this tidy. If you can’t take fixed colors out of me, you don’t have fixed colors for your bedroom, so there!”
“You are awful quick and smart, miss, and I have heard tell that vinegar does it.”
“Vinegar?”
“I have heard tell, but I have never tried it. You drink it three times a day, a wine-glass at a time. It’s horrid nasty stuff, but if you want to change your complexion you must put up with some sort of inconvenience.”
“Suppose, Betty, you and me both drink it. Your nose might get white, and I might go to the seaside.”
“No, miss, I’m not tempted to interfere with nature. I’ve got good ’ealth, and I’ll keep it without no vinegar.”
“But will you give me some? You shall have the pin-cushion and the tidy if you do.”
“’Arriet would like that tidy,” contemplated Betty, looking with round eyes at the hideous ornament.
“You sneak round to the boot-house, and I’ll have it ready for you,” she said. “Come at eleven, come again at half-past three, and come at seven in the evening.”