After that, the pleasure of the evenings spent around the sitting-room fire was marred by the unpleasant insinuations directed at Mr. Lindsay by Miss Nancy, and the covert stabs she inflicted on Miss Lucy. One unusually cold evening Mr. Lindsay came in with a slight chill and flushed cheeks.
"Bein's hit's so cold, Mr. Lindsay, and you ain't well," remarked Miss Lucy kindly, placing a smoothing-iron on the fender, "I'll heat this iron for you to take to bed with you. Them upstairs rooms havin' no fire in 'em, is awful chilly these nights."
Presently Miss Nancy pushed the iron away from the fire.
"You're jest a burnin' that ir'n up, Lucy Ann!" she scolded.
Miss Lucy said nothing, but when Miss Nancy left the room a moment, quietly put the iron nearer the fire again, and when her sister returned and once more moved it away, she lifted it off the fender.
"I'll jest take your iron to the kitchen, Mr. Lindsay," she said in a low tone, "and get a flannel rag to wrap hit in,—that is," she looked at him with apologetic eyes, "ef you are about ready for hit!"
Mr. Lindsay arose and followed Miss Lucy to the kitchen.
"Miss Lucy," he said gravely, "I see I'm a causin' trouble a stayin' here: I'm a makin' a disturbance in the family."
"Why no, Mr. Lindsay," Miss Lucy's voice shook in eager denial of his assertion. "No, you ain't—you ain't a doin' nobody nothin' but good. We all ain't been so happy sence Mother was taken away."
"Miss Nancy," began Mr. Lindsay, but Miss Lucy interrupted him.