"Are ye hungry enough now, Governor?"
"I hope so, Karen, — for your sake."
"Ye don't care much for your own," said Karen discontentedly.
Perhaps Winthrop — perhaps Elizabeth, thought that she made up his lack of it. Elizabeth watched, stealthily, to see how the old woman waited upon him — hovered about him — supplied his wants, actual and possible, and stood looking at him when she could do nothing else. She could not understand the low word or two with which Winthrop now and then rewarded her. Bitter feeling overcame her at last; she turned away, too much out of tune with nature to notice any more, unless by way of contrast, what nature had spread about her and over her. She went round the house again to the front and sat down in the doorway. The stars were out, the moonlight lay soft on the water, the dews fell heavily.
"Miss Lizzie! — you'll catch seven deaths out there! — the day's bad enough, but the night's five times worse," — Clam exclaimed.
"I shan't catch but one," Elizabeth said gloomily.
"Your muslin's all wet, drinchin'!"
"It will dry."
"I can hang it up, I s'pose; but what'll I do with you if you get sick?"
"Nothing whatever! Let me alone, Clam."