"I'll teach you what I know, my darling: and now we'll go right off and see Barby we shall catch her just in a good time."
It was a poor little unpainted house, standing back from the road, and with a double row of' boards laid down to serve as a path to it. But this board walk was scrubbed perfectly clean. They went in without knocking. There was nobody there but an old woman seated before the fire, shaking all over with the St. Vitus's Dance. She gave them no salutation, calling instead on "Barby!" who presently made her appearance from the inner door.
"Barby! who's this?"
"That's Mis' Plumfield, mother," said the daughter, speaking loud as to a deaf person.
The old lady immediately got up and dropped a very quick and what was meant to be a very respect-showing courtesy, saying at the same time, with much deference, and with one of her involuntary twitches, "I ' 'maun ' to know!" The sense of the ludicrous and the feeling of pity together, were painfully oppressive. Fleda turned away to the daughter, who came forward and shook hands with a frank look of pleasure at the sight of her elder visitor.
"Barby," said Mrs. Plumfield, "this is little Fleda Ringgan do you remember her?"
"I 'mind to know!" said Barby, transferring her hand to Fleda's, and giving it a good squeeze. "She's growed a fine gal, Mis' Plumfield. You ha'n't lost none of your good looks - ha' you kept all your old goodness along with 'em?"
Fleda laughed at this abrupt question, and said she didn't know.
"If you ha'n't, I wouldn't give much for your eyes," said
Barby, letting go her hand.
Mrs. Plumfield laughed too at Barby's equivocal mode of complimenting.