“No, I didn’t speak of price.”
“That’s good,” said her aunt, slightly mollified. “At least Martin Howe can’t go crowin’ over me—that is, unless Elias Barnes tells him. ’Twould be exactly like Elias to do it. He is just that mean.”
Although Ellen did not own it, Lucy knew that had the case been reversed, she would have been the first to crow unhesitatingly not only over Elias but over Martin. Pityingly she looked at the old woman.
“If you ever get the chance to speak to those Howe women again,” her aunt concluded, with 81 affected nonchalance, “you might tell ’em we never used their eggs. You could say I smashed ’em. I’d like Martin Howe to know it.”
CHAPTER VI
ELLEN ENCOUNTERS AN ENIGMA
Nevertheless, in spite of this bellicose admonition, Lucy had no opportunity during the next few weeks to deliver to the Howes her aunt’s message, for Ellen, feeling that she was now blessed with an able assistant whose time must not be wasted, seized upon the mild May weather to deluge her home from top to bottom with soapsuds, sapolio, and fresh paint. From morning until night Lucy worked, scrubbing and scouring, brushing and beating.
As she toiled up the stairs, carrying pails of steaming water, she caught through the windows glimpses of the valley, its verdant depths threaded by the river’s silvery windings. The heavens had never been bluer. Everywhere gladness was in the air, and the thrill of it filled the girl with longing to be in the heart of its magic.