“But I was not thinking about the affairs of this farm and the Indians so much as something else,” Mrs. Rickards went on presently, smiling from Ma to Rube and back again at Ma.
The farmwife laid her knitting aside. She understood the other’s meaning, and this was the first mention of it between them. Even Rube had turned his head and his deep-set eyes were upon the “fine lady.”
“Yes, I was thinking of Seth and Rosebud,” she went on earnestly. “You know that Rosebud——”
Ma nodded.
“Seth’s ter’ble slow,” she said slyly.
“Do you think he’s——”
“Sure.” The two women looked straight into each other’s eyes, which smiled as only old women’s eyes can smile when they are speaking of that which is the greatest matter of their lives.
“I know how she regards him,” Mrs. Rickards went on. “And I tell you frankly, Mrs. Sampson, I was cordially opposed to it—when I came here. 362 Even now I am not altogether sure it’s right by the girl’s dead father—but——”
“But——?” Ma’s face was serious while she waited for the other to go on.
“But—but—well, if I was a girl, and could get such a man as Seth for a husband, I should be the proudest woman in the land.”