Lois got up, but Flora would not take her chair. She sat down clumsily on the pine needles, and fanned herself with the cover of a book she carried.
“I've just been down to the library, an' got this book,” she remarked.
“Is it good?”
“They say it's real good. Addie Green's been reading it.”
Flora wore a bright blue cambric dress and a brown straw hat. Her figure was stout and high-shouldered, her dull-complexioned face full of placid force. She was not very young, and she looked much older than she was; and people had wondered how George Freeman, who was handsome and much courted by the girls, as well as younger than she, had come to marry her. They also wondered how her mother, who had been so bitterly opposed to the match, had given in, and was now living so amicably with the young couple; they had been on the alert for a furious village feud. But when Flora and her husband had returned from their stolen wedding tour, Mrs. Maxwell had met them at the depot and bidden them home with her with vociferous ardor, and the next Sunday Flora had gone to church in the new silk. There had been a conflict of two wills, and one had covered its defeat with a parade of victory. Mrs. Maxwell had talked a great deal about her daughter's marriage and how well she had done.
“There's a thunder-shower coming up,” Flora said after a little. “Where's your aunt?”
“Gone berrying.”
“She'll get caught in the shower if she don't look out. What makes you work so steady this hot day, Lois?”
“I've got to get this done.”
“There isn't any need of your working so hard.”