Farmer Ellison walked to the door, with half a twinkle in his eye. "Clear across the pool under water," he muttered to himself. "Sure enough, I didn't need them burdock bitters."
A few minutes later, Bess Thornton, seated at the breakfast table in the Ellison home, was eating the best meal she had had in many a day. A motherly-looking woman, setting out a few extra dainties for her, wiped her eyes now and again with a corner of her apron.
"She'd have been about her age," she whispered to herself once softly, and bent and gave the girl a kiss.
When Bess Thornton left the house, she carried a basket on one arm that made Grannie Thornton stare in amazement when she looked within.
"No, no," she said, all of a tremble, as the girl drew forth some of the delicacies, and offered them to her. "Not a bit of it for me. I'll not touch it. You can. And see here, don't go up on the hill again, do you hear? Keep away from the Ellisons'."
She had such a strange, excited, almost frightened way with her that the child urged her no further, but put the basket away, put of her sight.
"Mrs. Ellison asked me to come again," she said to herself, sighing. "I don't see why gran' should care."