Amanda was sewing a braided rug; her little veiny hands jerked the stout thread through with a nervous energy that was out of accord with her calm expression and the droop of her long slender body.
“It's pretty hard sewin' braided mats, ain't it?” said Mrs. Babcock.
“I don't care how hard 'tis if I can get 'em sewed strong,” replied Amanda, and her voice was unexpectedly quick and decided. “I never had any feelin' that anything was hard, if I could only do it.”
“Well, you ain't had so much hard work to do as some folks. Settin' in a rockin'-chair sewin' braided mats ain't like doin' the housework for a whole family. If you'd had the cookin' to do for four men-folks, the way I have, you'd felt it was pretty hard work, even if you did make out to fill 'em up.” Mrs. Babcock smiled, and showed that she did not forget she was company, but her tone was quite fierce.
“Mebbe I should,” returned Amanda, stiffly.
There was a silence.
“Let me see, how many mats does that make?” Mrs. Babcock asked, finally, in an amiable voice.
“Like this one?”
“Yes.”
“This makes the ninth.”