"Why don't you go yourself?" I says.
"Because Mis' Bingy'll be ashamed before me," she says; "but she won't think you know about it. Take her this."
I took the loaf of steam brown bread.
"If Luke comes," I says, "have him walk along after me."
The way to Mis' Bingy's was longer to go by the road, or short through the wood-lot. I went by the road, because I thought maybe I might meet somebody. The worst of the farm wasn't only the work. It was never seein' anybody. I only met a few wagons, and none of 'em stopped to say anything. Lena Curtsy went by, dressed up in black-and-white, with a long veil. She looks like a circus rider, not only Sundays but every day. But Luke likes the look of her, he said so.
"You're goin' the wrong way, Cossy!" she calls out.
"No, I ain't, either," I says, short enough. I can't bear the sight of her. And yet, if I have anything to brag about, it's always her I want to brag it to.
Just when I turned off to Bingy's, I met the boys. We never waited supper for 'em, because sometimes they get home and sometimes they don't. They were coming from the end of the street-car line, black from the blast furnace.
"Where you goin', kid?" says Bert.
I nodded to the house.