“I’m sure I don’t.”
Jane nodded.
“We imagined you were like that,” she said. “I told Mary an’ ’Liza so the day you come for the eggs. ‘She ain’t like her aunt,’ I says to Mary, ‘not a mite; an’ you can be pretty sure she won’t be in sympathy with all this squabblin’ an’ back-bitin’.’”
“Indeed I’m not.”
“We ain’t either, not one of us. We’d like nothin’ better’n to be neighborly an’ run in. It’s the only decent way of doin’ when folks live side by side. But Martin wouldn’t listen to our doin’ it, even if your aunt would—which I know she wouldn’t. He’s awful set against the Websters.”
“How silly it seems!”
“That’s what I tell him,” Jane declared. “Of course your aunt’s an old woman, an’ ’tain’t surprisin’ she should harbor a grudge against us. But Martin’s younger, an’ had oughter be more forgivin’. It’s nonsensical feelin’ you’ve got to be just as sour an’ crabbed as your grandfather was. I don’t humor him in it—at least not more’n I have to to keep the 121 peace. But Mary an’ ’Liza hang on to every word Martin utters. If he was to say blue was green, they’d say so too. They’d no more do a thing he wouldn’t like ’em to than they’d cut off their heads. They wouldn’t dare. I ’spect they’ll have a spasm when they see you come walkin’ in to-night.”
“Maybe I ought not to come,” Lucy murmured in a disappointed voice.
“Yes, you ought,” Jane said with decision. “Why should we keep up a quarrel none of us approve of? Martin ain’t home. It’s nothin’ to him.”
“Well, if you’re sure you want me,” Lucy laughed and dimpled.