“He surely will give me somethin’ to do,” Mis’ Lomux said hopefully, “’cause he done promised he would.”
“Well, mebbe he will, then. Did you ever work in a mill afore?”
“No’m, but I can learn real fast. They say ’tain’t hard.”
“No, ’tain’t to say hard, but it’s turrible wearin’,” Polly answered. “You don’t look real stout, nuther.”
“That’s one reason why I come,” Mis’ Lomux admitted frankly, “though I’m stout a’ plenty to putter all day without restin’ any bit. Last fall I was tuk with a spell o’ fever an’ sence then I jest ain’t been able to do like I uster. Plowin’ an’ sech-like beats me plum out in no time. I tried my best to take Tobe’s place after he left, but I jest couldn’t make out no way.”
“Who’s Tobe?” Polly interrupted with deepening interest. “Your brother?”
“No’m, he’s my husband.”
“Your husband!” Polly echoed surprisedly. “You look dreadful young to be married. How long have you been married?”
“Be ten weeks on Sunday,” the bride replied unenthusiastically.
“An’ he’s left you a’ready!”