“Didn't you hev no cat?”
“There ain't no cat, James, that could get into a melodeon through a mouse hole, more especially the big maltese you gave me. I kept that cat, James, as you may say, all these weary years. When there was kittens, I kept the one that looked most like old Malty, but of late years, the cats has all been different, and the one I buried jest afore I sailed away was yeller and white with black and brown spots—a kinder tortoise shell—that didn't look nothin' like Malty. You'd never have knowed they belonged to the same family, but I was sorry when she died, on account of her bein' the last cat.”
Hepsey, half frightened, put her head into the room. “Dinner's ready,” she shouted, hurriedly shutting the door.
“Give me your arm, James,” said Mrs. Ball, and Ruth followed them into the dining-room.
The retired sailor ate heartily, casting occasional admiring glances at Ruth and Hepsey. It was the innocent approval which age bestows upon youth. “These be the finest biscuit,” he said, “that I've had for many a day. I reckon you made 'em, didn't you, young woman?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Hepsey, twisting her apron.
The bride was touched in a vulnerable spot.
“Hepsey,” she said, decisively, “when your week is up, you will no longer be in my service. I am a-goin'to make a change.”
Mr. Ball's knife dropped with a sharp clatter. “Why, Mis' Ball,” he said, reproachfully, “who air you goin' to hev to do your work?”
“Don't let that trouble you, James,” she answered, serenely, “the washin' can be put out to the Widder Pendleton, her as was Elmiry Peavey, and the rest ain't no particular trouble.”