Mrs. Babcock shook her head, and Amanda carried the teapot and tumbler back to the kitchen, then she seated herself again, and resumed her mending. Mrs. Babcock fanned and panted, and eyed Amanda.
“You look cool enough in that old muslin sacque,” said she, in a tone of vicious injury.
“Yes, it is real cool. I've kept this sacque on purpose for a real hot day.”
“Well, it's dreadful long in the shoulder seams, 'cordin' to the way they make 'em now, but I s'pose it's cool. Oh, hum! I ruther guess I shouldn't have come out of the house, if I'd any idea how hot 'twas in the sun. Seems to me it's hot as an oven here. I should think you'd air off your house early in the mornin', an' then shut your windows tight, an' keep the heat out.”
“I know some folks do that way,” said Amanda.
“Well, I always do, an' I guess 'most everybody does that's good housekeepers. It makes a sight of difference.”
Amanda said nothing, but she sat straighter.
“I s'pose you don't have to make any fire from mornin' till night; seems as if you might keep cool.”
“No, I don't have to.”
“Well, I do. There I had to go to work to-day an' cook squash an' beans an' green corn. The men folks ain't satisfied if they don't have 'em in the time of 'em. I wish sometimes there wasn't no such thing as garden sauce. I tell 'em sometimes I guess if they had to get the things ready an' cook 'em themselves, they'd go without. Seems sometimes as if the whole creation was like a kitchen without any pump in it, specially contrived to make women folks extra work. Looks to me as if pease without pods could have been contrived pretty easy, and it does seem as if there wasn't any need of havin' strings on the beans.”