"Mother," said Diana, "you know I never spill flour or anything else; no more than you do."
"No, but it would go, I mean, and you never the wiser. It ain't the way to get along, unless you mean to marry a rich man. Now look at that heap o' ashes! I declare, it beats me to know what you have been doing to burn so much wood here; and mild weather, too. Who has been here to see you, since I've been laid up?"
"Several people came to ask about you."
"Who did? and who didn't? that came at all."
"Joe Bartlett—and Mr. Masters—and Mrs. Delamater,—I can't tell you all, mother; there's been a good many."
"Tell me the men that have been here.
"Well, those I said; and Will Flandin, and Nick, and Mr. Knowlton."
"Was he here more than once?"
"Yes."
"How much more?"