"Have some more pie," Emily urged. "A little more pie won't hurt you. I've got to begin canning cherries to-morrow."
"Oh, can the canning! What do you want to stew in the kitchen for, weather like this?"
When Emily left the table she went quickly to the kitchen. Strange how the maid's conscience could prick the mistress! Old Maggie now was crippled and Emily had promised to take the ironed clothes yesterday from the clothes horse and put them away. She had forgotten, almost cruelly forgotten, for to have something done on Thursday that should have been done on Wednesday was pain to Maggie. To that pathetic sensitiveness her years of faithful service had brought her. No woman in town but Emily would have endured the crankiness of the old thing, the neighbors said. But Emily from infancy had been used to her tyranny, and to her any servant was better than none at all. She apologized for having forgotten. And Maggie, hobbling around, demanded that she look at Martha's best "chimmey." The woman had scorched it, burned it, and doubled her fault carefully in so Emily wouldn't see it. And Emily looked at it, and grumbled a little, sympathizingly, and then spoiled the effect of her good deed by saying the garment was almost worn out, anyway. Whereat Maggie snorted. Did that excuse the careless, lazy, sneaky woman for folding it in so deceitfully? Certainly not, Emily hurried to assure her, trying to sound efficient and superior, and knowing as she went through the living room with an armful of mending that she had seemed as usual but a broken reed to the old thing who needed something strong, now, to lean on.
Bob saw her task, and said, of course:
"Why don't you make Martha do that for you?"
"You know she's gone to work on the committee, getting things ready for to-night. She's busy."
"Busy! Huh!" remarked Bob.
Emily had intended to get a lot of work done before Martha came back for her. Those bathroom sash curtains really must be changed. But a neighbor "ran in" for a minute. She wanted to talk about her grandchild, and Emily forgot her hurry. And then she thought she would take some of those lovely columbines to her friend's mother in Elgin. And so she went out and cut some, and wasn't at all ready to go when Martha came for her, calling up to her to hurry if she wanted to get back by five. But Emily seized her and made her wait.
"Martha, sit down a minute. Listen to me. You're a bad child. You ought to be spanked. I wish——"
"Oh, I know it, mother," Martha answered, sincerely. "I'm the limit. Can you imagine me talking that way to anyone else? But dad does get my goat, some way. What does he want to keep on after me for, after I've told him I'm sorry? He's just got into the habit of ya-ya-ya-ing at me, and he'll just have to get out of it. I'm not going to have it. Did you see him writhe, mother, when I mygodded him?" And Martha chuckled.