“But we’ve got to start after dinner about it.” Mrs. Brown played nervously with her knife and fork. Then she threw them down on her plate, jumped up and turned her back on the farmer, dinner and all.
“My soul an’ body!” cried Mr. Brown, his knife half-way to his mouth. He stopped to stare aghast at her. “You hain’t never acted like this, Nancy.”
“Well, I hain’t never had nothin’ like this to set me goin’,” said Nancy, her voice trembling. “To think that child should ’a’ sprung up to-day, an’ I’ve always wanted a little gal—”
Farmer Brown shook all over. Down fell the knife to the kitchen floor. He glared all around the big kitchen as if somehow that were to blame. Then he cleared his throat two or three times. “P’raps they’ll let us keep her, Nancy,” he managed to get out at last.
But Nancy, sobbing in her apron, was beyond the sound of comfort.
“You know as well as you set in that chair that they won’t,” she sobbed. “O dear, why did we find her—and I want a little gal so!”
“Hush!—somebody’s comin’,” warned the farmer. Round the corner of the house came two figures, and pretty soon “Rap—Rap!” on the old door.
“Set down, Nancy!” cried her husband; “for goodness sake, all Maybury will think you an’ me’s ben quarreling!”
“They couldn’t think that, John,” cried Mrs. Brown in dismay, and hurried back to the dinner table.
“When they see you a-cryin’, you can’t tell what they’d think,” said the farmer grimly, and taking his time about opening the door.