“Oh, good evening, my pretty young lady,” said Mrs. Ives, dropping her accustomed curtsey. “I’m in a sore bit of trouble, and I’ve come back here thinking perhaps you could help me.”
“If I can I will right heartily,” said Barbara. “But you look very tired, and there is plenty of room in the carriage. Please get in.”
Mrs. Evershed made a gesture of disapproval, but Barbara could afford to take no notice of her mother. Mrs. Ives interested her. She thought she would like to show the little woman to Dick. Barbara’s heart was full of Dick. She had not been parted from him for so long a time since their marriage. She had a great deal to tell him.
“Step in. Take this seat,” said Barbara.
Mrs. Ives did so.
“I’m mighty obliged. I’m very footsore,” said the little woman.
Barbara whipped up the ponies and proceeded at a rapid pace down the avenue. Mrs. Ives sat quite silent, staring full in the face of the pretty young lady.
“I can deal her a blow, and, dear heart! I don’t like to do it,” she said to herself. “But after all, what is riches? I ha’ tasted them at my darter’s and they’re a grand mistake. It’s a sight better to live poor and live plain. Yes, that’s what I say—live poor and live plain. Have plain food and a plain bed and cleanliness round you, and you don’t want for nothing. That’s the way to live and have a long life, and no encouraging of stoutness.”
As these thoughts flew through Mrs. Ives’s active brain she glanced at Mrs. Evershed, who was decidedly broad and fully developed. Mrs. Ives did not like the grand lady, and did not trouble to look at her again.
They presently reached the house. Barbara helped her mother out of the carriage and then turned to Mrs. Ives.