“I jest about do all the work here,” she said.
She looked at the man again.
There was something curiously sweet in the simple face. The patient line at each side of the close, pale mouth had a strange effect upon Mr. Baker.
He had been known to say violently in conversation at the store that he “never seen Ann Tracy ‘thout wantin’ to thrash her Aunt Mandany.”
“What in time be you dryin’ seek-no-further for?” he now exclaimed with some fierceness. “They’re the flattest kind of apples I know of.”
“That’s what Aunt says,” was the reply; “she says they’re most as flat’s as I be, ‘n’ that’s flat ‘nough.”
These words were pronounced as if the speaker were merely stating a well-known fact.
“Then what does she do um for?” persisted Mr. Baker.
“She says they’re good ‘nough to swop for groceries in the spring.”
Mr. Baker made a deep gash in an apple, and held his tongue.