'Tilda Jane raised her moist eyes.
"You've got ham and eggs; fried petetters and toast, and two kinds of preserve, and hot rolls and coffee, and cake and doughnuts, which is more'n you ever got at the asylum, I'll warrant, and yet you're crying,—and after all the trouble you've been to me. There's no satisfying some people."
'Tilda Jane wiped her eyes. "I ain't a-cryin' for the 'sylum," she said, stolidly.
"Then what are you crying for?"
"I'm cryin' 'cause it's such a long way to Orstralia, an' I don't know no one. I wish you was a-goin'."
"I wish I was, but I ain't. Come on now, eat your supper."
"I suppose I be a fool," she muttered, picking up her knife and fork. "I've often heard I was."
"Hi now—I guess you feel better, don't you?" said the young man, twenty minutes later.
He was in excellent humour himself, and, sitting tilted back in his chair by the fireplace, played a tune on his big white teeth with a toothpick.