“No,” said Carington.
“I brought you a grilse, Mrs. Maybrook. It is in the pool.”
“I am that obliged to you. Guess I’ll smoke it, if it isn’t too big. Come in. I just pulled some roses for Miss Anne. I’ve got them inside. You might take them along. I’ll have to look up Hiram. Come in.” They followed her.
“Here is your money for the milk,” said Carington, “and very good milk it is.”
“My old cow ought to have her share, but she won’t. I guess we none of us know when we get our fairings. She won’t know any more than the rest of us. Did you walk down, Mr. Carington?”
“Yes.”
“Come by Joe Colkett’s?”
“No; I took the lower road.”
“He was here yesterday. You wouldn’t guess in a week of Sundays what for. He wants to put a wooden slab over those poor children,—just to please that hag. And he asked me to print it for him,—I mean, what will do for the inscription. I tell you I was puzzled. I want you to see if it is all right. He can’t read a word. You see, he means to copy it, and then to please the woman with it.”
“How sad that is!” said Rose. “And he really cares for her?”