“I’m in a great hurry, Mr. Beebe,” she said importantly; “an’ if you hain’t got any shoes for Marianna, why, I must go somewhere’s else. We are to meet her Pa at Simmons’s; he’s come to sell his grain, and he’ll be all put out ef we ain’t on time. I’ve sold my eggs and butter,” she volunteered, shaking the black crocheted bag on her arm, so that an old pocket-book could be seen dancing about within the meshes.
“We’ll get Marianna’s shoes es quick ’s we can,” said old Mr. Beebe, composedly, “but ef you’d rather go somewhere’s else, Mis’ Phipps, why, I’d advise you to.”
“Oh, I didn’t say as I was goin’,” replied Mrs. Phipps, hastily. “You mustn’t get mad, Mr. Beebe,” she added in an injured tone.
“’N’ I’m glad you’ve had good luck,” said the old gentleman, beginning to feel that perhaps he had used unkindly speech.
“Oh, I hain’t had such very good luck,” cried Mrs. Phipps, in great alarm lest the price of shoes should go up. “’Tain’t no easy matter when all is counted up, to make much out o’ a few hens that do nothin’ all day but eat fit to burst.”
“Well, here’s a pair, now.” Mr. Beebe took the two little shoes out from the box, turned them over several times in his big hands, felt of the leather of each upper, then finally placed them in Phronsie’s hands. “You run over and show ’em to that lady,” he said, nodding over to the settee.
Mrs. Phipps eyed Phronsie curiously, dividing her interest between her and the shoes, Marianna doing the same, so that when the little shopkeeper advanced to them, there wasn’t much progress made toward a trade, and old Mrs. Beebe, smothering a sigh, waddled out to see if by chance the stewed beef set back on the stove could have caught.
“It’s good leather,” said Mr. Beebe. “You needn’t pinch it so hard, Mis’ Phipps; that shoe’ll wear like iron.”
“It can stand a few pinches now, then,” said Mrs. Phipps, grimly, and nipping up another portion between her hard nails.
“Now let’s slip on that shoe,” cried Mr. Beebe, quickly, “an’ see how it fits. Maybe it won’t do at all.”