"How old are you, Mother Bartlett?"
"Seventy-three years, child."
"Well, I do think you oughtn't to be here alone. It don't seem right, and I don't think it is right."
"What's to do, child? There ain't nary one to come and live with me. They're all gone but Joe. My Lord knows I'm an old woman seventy-three years of age."
"What then, Mother Bartlett?" Diana asked curiously.
"He'll take care of me, my dear."
"But then, we ought to take care of ourselves," said Diana. "Now if Joe would marry somebody"—
"Joe ain't lucky in that line," said the old lady laughing again. "And may be what he might like, I mightn't. Before you go to wishin' for changes, you'd better know what they'll be. I'm content child. There ain't a thing on earth I want that I haven't got. Now what's the news?"
Diana began and told her the whole story of the sewing meeting and the accident and the nursing of the injured girl. Mrs. Bartlett had an intense interest in every particular; and what Diana failed to remember, her questions brought out.
"And how do you like the new minister?"