“Well, I should think you could go, if Mis' Green an' I could,” said Mrs. Babcock. “Here you ain't got nobody but jest yourself, an' ain't got to leave a thing cooked up nor nothin'.”
“I would like to see Mis' Field an' Lois again, but it seems like a great undertakin',” sighed Amanda. “Then it's goin' to cost something.”
“It ain't goin' to cost but jest three dollars an' sixty cents,” said Mrs. Babcock. “I guess you can afford that, Mandy. There your tenement didn't stay vacant two weeks after the Fields went; the Simmonses came right in. I guess if I had rent-money, an' nobody but myself, I could afford to travel once in a while.”
“Now you'd better make up your mind to go, Mandy,” Mrs. Green said. “I think Mis' Field would be more pleased to see you than anybody in Green River. That's one thing I think about goin'. I know she'll be tickled almost to death to see us comin' in. Mis' Field's a real good woman. There wa'n't anybody in town I set more by than I did by her.”
“When did you hear from her last, Mandy?” interposed Mrs. Babcock.
“About a month ago.”
“I s'pose Lois is a good deal better?”
“Yes, I guess she is. Her mother said she seemed pretty well for her. I s'pose it agrees with her better down there.”
“I s'pose there was a good deal more fuss made about her when she was here than there was any need of,” said Mrs. Babcock, her whole face wrinkled upward contemptuously; “a great deal more fuss. There wa'n't nothin' ailed the girl if folks had let her alone, talkin' an' scarin' her mother to death. She was jest kind of run down with the spring weather. Young girls wilt down dreadful easy, an' spring up again. I've seen 'em. 'Twa'n't nothin'.”
“Well, I dunno; she looked dreadfully,” Mrs. Green said, with mild opposition.