“I still can’t understand why we couldn’t ’a’ left it buried,” Eliza fretted.
“I explained why to you last night,” Jane answered, speaking for the first time. “There warn’t a spot on the place that Martin might not go to diggin’ or plowin’ up sometime. He 97 might even ’a’ dug round the roots of the linden for somethin’. Ain’t he always fertilizin’ an’ irrigatin’? I didn’t dare leave the bag there. If he’d ’a’ gone stickin’ a pick or a shovel into it sudden——”
“I see,” interrupted Eliza. “’Twas stupid of me not to understand before. ’Course that wouldn’t do. Yes, I guess you were right. There ain’t much to do but sink it in the brook. Would you ’a’ dreamed there could be anything in the world so hard to get rid of? All I’ve got to say is I hope neither Martin nor old Miss Webster finds it. What do you s’pose they’d say?”
“I wouldn’t want Martin to come on to it unexpected. ’Twould worry me to death.” Eliza shuddered.
“But you don’t care about old Miss Webster,” Jane observed with a laugh.
“I never wished Miss Webster ill, goodness knows that,” returned Eliza gravely. “None of us ever did ’cept Martin, an’ he’s got no business to. I s’pose he’d like nothin’ better than to have her run across this thing. You don’t s’pose there’s any danger that she will, do you, Jane?”
“Danger of her findin’ it?” 98
“No. I mean danger of her gettin’ hurt with it,” explained Eliza timidly.
“Mercy, no. How could it harm her if it was wet?”
“I dunno,” whimpered Eliza. “I’m so scat of such things.”