Joan stood abashed for a moment. So unexpected was the retort, so much was it at variance with her own mood that she had no answer ready, and the other was left with the field to herself.
“Now jest look right here, Miss Joan—ma’m,” she cried, flourishing a cooking spoon to point her words. “I ain’t a woman of many words by no means, as you might say, but what I sure says means what I mean, no more an’ no less, as the sayin’ is. I’ve kep’ house all my life, an’ I reckon ther’s no female from St. Ellis ken show me. I’ve bin a wife an’ a mother, an’ raised my offsprings till they died. I did fer a man as knew wot’s wot in my George D. An’ if I suffered fer it, it was jest because I know’d my duty an’ did it, no matter the consequences to me an’ mine. I tell you right here, an’ I’m a plain-spoken woman who’s honest, as the sayin’ is, I turn out no house, nor room, nor nothin’ of an afternoon. I know my duty an’ I do it. Ther’s a chapter of the Bible fer every day o’ my life, an’ it needs digestin’ good—with my dinner. An’ I don’t throw it up fer nobody.”
“But—but——” Joan began to protest, but the other brushed objection aside with an added flourish of her spoon.
“It ain’t no use fer you to persuade, nor cajole, nor argify. What I says goes fer jest so long as I’m willin’ to accept your ter’ble ordinary wages, which I say right here won’t be fer a heap long time if things don’t change some. I’m a respectable woman an’ wife that was, but isn’t, more’s the pity, an’ it ain’t my way to chase around the house a-screechin’ at the top o’ my voice jest as though I’d come from a cirkis. You ain’t got your mind on your work. You ain’t got your heart in it, singin’ all over the house, like—like one o’ them brazen cirkis gals. No, nor wot with scallawags a-comin’ around sparkin’ you, an’ the boys shootin’ theirselves dead over you, an’ folks in the camp a-callin’ of you a Jony gal, I don’t guess I’ll need to stay an’ receive con—contamination, as you might say. That’s how I’m feelin’; an’ bein’ a plain woman, an’ a ’specterble widow of George D., who was a man every inch of him, mind you, if he had his failin’s, chasin’ other folks’ cattle, an’ not readin’ their brands right, why, out it comes plump like a bad tooth you’re mighty glad to be rid of, as the sayin’ is.”
The woman turned back to her cooking. Her manner was gravely disapproving, and she had managed to convey a sting which somehow hurt Joan far more than she was willing to admit. Her refusal to undertake the added work was merely churlish and disconcerting, but those other remarks raised a decided anger not untouched by a feeling of shame and hurt. But Joan did not give way to any of these feelings in her reply. She did the only dignified thing possible.
“You need not wait until your dissatisfaction with me overwhelms you, Mrs. Ransford,” she said promptly. “I engaged you by the month, and I shall be glad if you will leave me to-day month.” Then she added with a shadow of reproach: “Really, I thought you were made of better stuff.”
But her attitude had a far different result to what she had expected. She turned to go, preferring to avoid a further torrent of abuse from the harsh old woman, when the spoon flourished in the air as the widow of George D. swung round from her pots with an amazing alacrity.
“You ain’t chasin’ me out, Miss Joan—ma’m?” she cried aghast, her round eyes rolling in sudden distress. “Why, miss—ma’m, I never meant no harm—that I didn’t. Y’ see I was jest sore hearin’ them sayin’ things ’bout you in the camp, an’ you a-singin’ made me feel you didn’t care nuthin’. An’ these scallawags a-comin’ around a-sassin’ you, an’ a-kissin’ you, sort o’ set my blood boilin’. No, miss—ma’m, you ain’t a-goin’ to chase me out! You wouldn’t now, would you?” she appealed. “Jest say you won’t, an’ I’ll have the house turned sheer upside down ’fore you know wher’ you are. There, jest think of it. You may need some un to ke’p that scallawag Buck in his place. How you goin’ to set about him without me around? I ain’t quittin’ this day month, am I, miss—ma’m?”
The old woman’s abject appeal was too much for Joan’s soft heart, and her smiling eyes swiftly told the waiting penitent that the sentence was rescinded. Instantly the shadow was lifted from the troubled face.
“It was your own fault, Mrs. Ransford,” Joan said, struggling to conceal her amusement. “However, if you want to stay——Well, I must drive into the camp before dinner, and we’ll see about the little room when I return.”