"Not that I know of. But how are you getting on, Mrs. Diggans?"
"Ah, Miss Idy! in the same old way;—can't never make both ends jine, but somehow we lives and fattens."
"How many children have you?"
"Six—my biggest girl is out, visitin' her father's kin."
"Is it possible! I must be growing old. I recollect when you were married. You wore your wedding-dress the next Sunday, and I thought it was so fine."
"I wonder if you do?" said the flattered Mrs. Diggans. "Who'd a thought it?—and you so young! One of my children's named after you—Ide-e-e!" with a car-whistle termination. "Come here this minute! I liked it, 'cause 'twas a pretty name—sort o' high-soundin' you know—Ide-e-e-e!"
Ida had occular evidence of this new beauty of her cognomen.
"And your mother was allers mighty kind to me—ah! she was a lady—every inch of her!—Ide-e-e-e! if you don't come 'long, I'll spank you well!"
And "Idee" sneaked in, fist in her mouth, and scraped her bare toes in a frightfully flesh-crawling, provoking manner, while her namesake informed her of their relation to each other.
"How old are you, Ida?"