"Your mother got through with her pork?"
"Wall—I guess not. Seems to me, ef she was through, there wouldn't be so many pickle tubs round."
"Good weight?"
"Wall—fair."
"Our'n's better than that. Tell you what, Will, your pigs don't get the sunshine enough."
"Don't reckon they know the difference," said Will, smiling and glancing over towards Diana; but Diana was gone. "Were you calculatin' to go to meetin' to-day, Mis' Starling?"
"Guess not to-day, Will. I'm gettin' too old to work seven days in a week—in pork-killin' time, anyhow. I'm calculatin' to stay home. Diana's always for goin', though; she's gone to get ready, I guess. She ain't tired."
Silence. Diana's room was too far off for them to hear her moving about, and Mrs. Starling sat down and stretched out her feet towards the fire. Both parties meditating.
"You and she hain't come to any understanding yet?" the lady began.
Will shifted his position uneasily and spoke not.
"I wouldn't wait too long, if I was you. She might take a notion to somebody else, you know, and then you and me'd be nowhere."