“She expected you to put poison in the food?” Paul jested.
“She expected me to wait on 'em—to fetch the grub from the stove to the table an' stick it under their noses, but I didn't. I took my seat on the kitchen door-step. I heard 'er callin', but I was deef as a post. One of the gals come an' told me her ma said they wanted a hot pone o' bread, an' I told 'er it was in the stove, an' if she didn't hurry it would burn—that I smelt it already. When supper was over Carrie come an' told me they was finished. She said she was sorry all the preserves was ate up, but that the children was greedy an' hard to control when sweet things was in sight. I told her I didn't feel like eatin'—that I never did when I worked over my own cookin', an' I didn't touch a bite. I set in to washin' the dishes an' she hung about, still talkin'. Her main theme was the old times an' how many of our crowd of girls had been unable to keep pace an' float with her, an' the few that was left on top. Then she mentioned you.”
“Me! I thought I'd get my share,” Paul smiled.
“Oh, she didn't have nothin' but praise for you,” Amanda returned. “In fact, she thought that would rankle. She had the idea that you was plumb through with us, an' said it must make us ashamed to be so close to you an' the fine folks at Hoag's. I was tempted to hit 'er betwixt the eyes one good lick to make 'er see straight, but I helt in. I got even, though—oh, I got even!”
“You say you did! Tell me about it,” Paul cried, highly amused.
“We was all settin' in the yard,” Amanda continued, “an' was jest fixin' to go to bed, when Jeff come, all out o' breath, an' told us the news about what you'd done, an' that I was wanted back home to help move. I ain't sure the Lord will ever forgive me, Paul, but I never felt so good in all my life as I did at the sight o' that woman. She was as limp as a wet rag, an' fairly keeled over. She actually tried to stop Jeff from talkin', but I pinned 'im down an' made 'im tell it over an' over. If I axed 'im one question about the new cottage an' new furniture I did a hundred. I went furder'n that. I looked at the house they live in—it's jest a four-room shack, you know, made of up-an'-down boards unpainted an' unsealed—an' axed 'er if it wasn't awful cold in winter, an' if the roof didn't sag too much for safety, an' whar she put the beds when it leaked. The purty part of it was that Tobe (I wish I could 'a' spared him, for he's nice an' plain as an old shoe) kept agreein' with me, an' braggin' on our new house, an' sayin' that he was too hard up to better 'imself. Carrie got so mad she plumb lost her grip, an' told 'im to dry up, an' then she flounced into the house an' wouldn't come out to say good-by. Paul, you may preach your human-love idea till you are black in the face, but if it works on a woman like Carrie Williams it will be when she's tied hand an' foot an' soaked with chloroform. I try not to let this nice place an' my pride in you spoil me. I don't think anybody could consider me stuck-up, but if Carrie Williams calls—which she is sure to do—I'll show 'er every single item about the place, an' remind 'er how much she praised it before we got it.”
CHAPTER XXIII
HOAG had become so nervous and low-spirited that he found himself every day waking earlier than usual. The dusky shadows of night were still hovering over the earth one morning in August when, being unable to return to sleep, he rose and went to a window and looked out. He was preparing to shave himself when he happened to see a man leaning against the front fence watching the house attentively.