The old man looked at the coat and then over his steel-rimmed spectacles at his elder daughter whose hand went up to her face in a nervous, defensive movement,—an acquired gesture that told of a life lived under the lash of rebuke.
"I taken this one, Pa, because I got it cheap; it was a young man's overcoat, left over from last spring. Jest see how fine quality it is, and Pa, I wisht you'd look at the linin'!"
Mr. James fingered the soft nap of the garment, and examined its handsome lining with reluctant eyes.
"Yes," he admitted grudgingly, "hit is fine quality. A blind hog will stumble on an acorn sometimes!"
Miss Lucy helped him into the coat.
"Wall," he grumbled triumphantly, "I knowed thar'd be somethin' wrong. Hit don't fit: I hain't a goin' to torment myse'f squez in sech tight armholes as them is! You'll jest have to take hit back! Go to town one day to git thengs,—go to town next day to swap 'em! I thenk next time you start out to town, you'd better let Nancy—a person with some jedgement, go with you to keep you from actin' like a chicken with hit's head off!"
"Ef you'd jest go along and try a coat on, Pa, like I want you to, you might git a better fit and be better suited too," remonstrated Miss Lucy mildly, although her lips trembled, as she carefully folded the coat, and laid it on a bottom shelf of the press, and smoothed the wrinkle on the bed where the bundle had lain. "And Pa," she added, "Brother and Sister Avery's a comin' out this evenin' to stay all night. I told 'em you'd be awful glad,—you got so lonesome a settin' 'round since you'd had the rheumatism so bad and the doctor told you not to work any."
"Why'n't you git some crackers, Lucy, ef you knowed comp'ny was comin'?" asked Miss Nancy. "We won't have no time to bake no lightbread between now and the time they git here, and we ought to have somethin' to eat with the beef soup."
"I did," replied Miss Lucy following her sister to the big, low-ceiled kitchen whose woodwork, cupboard shelves, biscuit board, and puncheon floor were alike white and immaculate with much scrubbing. Miss Nancy emptied the sugar into its jar and poured out the crackers.
"Why'n't you git square crackers?" she grumbled, as the round soda biscuits rattled in the tin can.