“And you are telling every one of them you'll write a piece?”
“Of course I am. It's the only thing they'll let me tell them. I want to get rid of them somehow.”
Sylvia looked at Lucinda anxiously. “Is it true that Albion Bennet has left?” she said.
“Yes; he was afraid of getting poisoned. Mrs. Jim Jones has taken him. I reckon I sha'n't have many steady boarders after this has quieted down.”
“But how are you going to get along, Lucinda?”
“I shall get along. Everybody gets along. What's heaped on you you have to get along with. I own the hotel, and I shall keep more hens and raise more garden truck, and let Hannah go if I can't pay her. I shall have some business, enough to keep me alive, I guess.”
“Is it true that Amos Quimby has jilted Hannah on account of—?”
“Guess so. He hasn't been near her since.”
“Ain't it a shame?”
“Hannah's got to live with what's heaped on her shoulders, too,” said Lucinda. “Folks had ought to be thankful when the loads come from other people's hands, instead of their own, and make the best of it. Hannah has got a good appetite. It ain't going to kill her. She can go away from East Westland by-and-by if she wants to, and get another beau. Folks didn't suspect her much, anyway. I've got the brunt of it.”