“There you go with your ’sposin’ again! Better get to work and straighten up this house. That’s what we come over for, ain’t it?”
Mrs. Collins rose heavily from her chair and unrolled and donned a carefully-ironed, blue-checked apron.
“Seems kinda funny to have the funeral here, don’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The graveyard’s handy an’ it’s so far to the church.”
“Yes, that’s so; ’tain’t far to the cemetry. Always seemed to me that Mamie’d found it kinda spooky, always seein’ the graveyard right through that window there over the stove. Bein’ up on top of that rise, an’ only half a mile away, would make it seem to me kinda like livin’ in a graveyard.”
“Selina, take this here bucket an’ bring in some water. My land, I don’t see how Mamie ever got through with all her work an’ took care of the baby. Her bein’ so old, an’ it her first, made it harder, too. Never thought her an’ Jed would have any children.”
“Things do need reddin’ up pretty considerable,” spoke Mrs. Collins, as she picked up some odds and ends of clothing from a corner, where they had lain long enough to accumulate a coating of acrid dust.
“My jes’ look at the linin’ in this firebox! How d’you ever ’spose Mamie managed to cook on it?”
“Must have been pretty hard. She didn’t have things fixed as handy as some of the rest of us, even. You see, they didn’t have much money to spend on things. Farmin’ in Kansas ain’t been a payin’ business the last few years. When ’tain’t too wet, it’s too dry, or too hot, or too cold, or somethin’.”
“Yes, it seems like there’s always somethin’. There—I’ve got that sweepin’ done. We’ll let Selina scrub, while we fix up the front room.”