“Why, Tish!” Aggie exclaimed.
“Aggie,” she observed, severely, “if you would only remember that the world is hungry, you would eat your crusts.”
“I ate crusts for twenty years,” said Aggie, “because I’d been raised to believe they would make my hair curl. But I’ve come to a time of life when my digestion means more to me than my looks. And since I’ve had the trouble with my teeth——”
“Teeth or no teeth,” said Tish, firmly, “eating crusts is a patriotic duty, Aggie.”
She was clearly disinclined to explain about the farm, but on being pressed said she had sent the tenants away because they kept pigs, which was absurd and she knew it.
“Isn’t keeping pigs a patriotic duty?” Aggie demanded, glancing at me across the table. But Tish ignored the question.
“What about the church?” I asked.
Tish has always given the farm money to missions, and is therefore Honorary President of the Missionary Society. She did not reply immediately as she was pouring milk over her cornstarch at the time, but Hannah, her maid, spoke up rather bitterly.
“If we give the heathen what we save on the table, Miss Lizzie,” she said, “I guess they’ll do pretty well. I’m that fed up with beans that my digestion is all upset. I have to take baking soda after my meals, regular.”
Tish looked up at her sharply.