“There’s another bag in the wood-chamber,” said Mrs. Hinman, as Em’line, a tall, thin maiden not over young, with her red hair done up in a hard twist like a door-knob on the back of her head, came hastily dragging after her a swelled-up bag over the grass. “You’ve forgot that.”
“I hain’t forgot it,” said Em’line, tartly, releasing the bag on the ground by the side of the red cart, “but I can’t get ’em both to once. My arm’s ’most broke with this one.”
Mrs. Hinman’s faded eyes took a new light. “You’ll give us good weight, Mr. Beggs,” she said greedily.
“I’ll give you th’ weight that ’tis,” said the ragman, lifting out from under his seat the long iron steelyards.
Em’line ran her eyes, a second edition of her mother’s, over the two little figures crowding up at the ragman’s elbow. “Can’t one o’ them boys git that other bag o’ rags?” she said.
“Oh, you don’t want to let ’em in th’ house,” said Mrs. Hinman, in dismay.
“They won’t do no hurt,” said Em’line, carelessly; “it’s in th’ wood-chamber.”
“But they’ve got to go through th’ kitchen,” protested her mother, “an’ you don’t know who they be.”
“Excuse me,” said the ragman, with great dignity, “but I don’t take folks a-ridin’ with me on this cart unless I do know who they be, Mis’ Hinman.”
“Well, they’re boys,” said Mrs. Hinman, holding to her point, notwithstanding her desire to get to trading.