“I d’no,” said his wife; “do help out that beef. It’s all biled to death,” passing her plate.
“It will eat just as good,” said the farmer, cutting off a scraggy strip, and dishing up a generous spoonful of cabbage to go with it to the waiting plate. “Well, Nancy, I’m beat to know what we’re goin’ to do with her.”
“Do stop talkin’ about her,” cried his wife. “She’s asleep now. And I’m as nervous as a witch.”
“I s’pose we might as well eat,” said the farmer, helping himself liberally. “Mebbe we can decide what to do better after we have eat.”
“I can’t think why I didn’t set that pot clear back on the stove,” said Mrs. Brown in vexation. “I might ’a’ known ’twould bile too fast when we went to Badgertown. I didn’t s’pose we’d be gone so long.”
“Well, ef we’d got home sooner we wouldn’t ’a’ come up with the little gal,” observed the farmer philosophically, while his portion of beef and cabbage was going rapidly to its last resting-place.
“What good will it do that we found her?” said his wife discontentedly. “We’ve got to give her up.”
“Well, I s’pose so,” said Mr. Brown slowly. “Hem! Ain’t I ever goin’ to have no tea?” he asked in an injured voice, looking hard across at his wife.
“Oh, mercy!” Mrs. Brown hopped out of her chair. “I don’t wonder that I forgot th’ teapot. Th’ Angel Gabriel couldn’t never remember anythin’ on sech a mornin’ as we’ve had!” She whipped her husband’s big blue cup off from the dresser, bringing it back full and steaming hot.
“I guess th’ Angel Gabriel hain’t ever had much to do with tea,” said Mr. Brown, putting in a good spoonful of brown sugar, and all the cream that would get safely into the cup; “he’s got enough to do a-blowin’ that horn o’ his’n. Well, don’t worry, Ma. Do set down an’ take it easy. Th’ little gal hain’t got to go yet.”