"Mr. Purcell," said Rotha, "I am glad you are come; there is a question to be decided here."
"No there aint; it's decided," put in Mr. Purcell's wife. The man looked as if he would like to be left out of the question; but with a resigned air he asked, "What is it?"
"Whether, while I am in this house, I can have my proper meals, and have them properly."
"You can have your meals, if you'll come to 'em," said Mrs. Purcell, picking her beans.
Rotha was too vexed to speak again, and looked to the man.
"Well—you see," he began conciliatingly, as much towards his wife as towards her, Rotha thought, "you see, Prissy has her work, and she has a lot of it; and she likes to do it reg'lar. It kind o' puts her out, you see, to be gettin' breakfast all along the mornin'. Now she's gettin' her dinner. She's like a spider;—let her alone, and put nothin' in her way, and she'll spin as pretty a web as you'll see; but if you tangle it up, it'll never get straight again."
Mrs. Purcell kept diligently picking her beans over and sweeping them into her pan.
"You do not meet the question yet," said Rotha haughtily.
"Well, you see, the best way would be for you to be along at meal times; when they's hot and ready on the table. Then one more wouldn't make so much difference."
"I have no way of knowing when the meals are ready. If Mrs. Purcell will set by some for me on a plate, and a cup of coffee, I will take it, not good nor hot."