"Lord bless you! this pie is so heartenin', somehow or 'nother, after such a walk. Susan Louisa is doin' pretty well; she's a sight improved from what she was. Folks is very considerate to Susan Louisa. She goes to the Orthodox church, an' sence she was sick there's been a committee to see to her. They met, fifteen in number. One on 'em give her two quarts o' milk a day. Mr. Dean, Susan Louisa's husband, died the eighth day o' last March."
"Yes, I heard he was gone, rather sudden," said Maria, showing more interest.
"Yes, but he was 'twixt eighty an' ninety year old. Susan Louisa was but fifty-one in February last."
"He'd have done better for you, wouldn't he, Mis' Norris?" suggested Maria, by way of pleasantry, but there was a long and doubtful pause.
"I had rather be excused," said Polly at last, with great emphasis. "Miss Maria Durrant, ain't you got a calico dress you could spare, or an apron, or a pair o' rubbers, anyways? I be extra needy, now, I tell you! There; I ain't inquired for William's folks; how be they?"
"All smart," said Maria, for the second time; but she happened to look up just in time to catch a strange gleam in her visitor's eyes.
"Mis' William don't come here, I expect?" she asked mysteriously.
"She never was no great of a visitor. Yes, she comes sometimes," answered Maria Durrant.
"I understood William had forbid her till you'd got away, if she was your own cousin."
"We're havin' no trouble together. What do you mean?" Maria demanded.