"No," she said, "I don't. Nor nobody sick in body."
"Nobody sick in body," Calliope repeated absently.
"Soul-sick an' soul-hungry you can't feed up," Mis' Holcomb added.
"I donno," said Calliope, thoughtfully, "I donno but you can."
"No," Mis' Holcomb went on; "your soul's like yourself in the glass: they ain't anything there."
"I donno," Calliope said again; "some mornin's when I wake up with the sun shinin' in, I can feel my soul in me just as plain as plain."
Mis' Holcomb sighed.
"Life looks dreadful footless to me," she said.
"Well," said Calliope, "sometimes life is some like hearin' firecrackers go off when you don't feel up to shootin' 'em yourself. When I'm like that, I always think if I'd go out an' buy a bunch or two, an' get somebody to give me a match, I could see more sense to things. Look here, Mame Bliss; if I get hold o' any folks to give the dinner for, will you help me some?"
"Yes," Mis' Holcomb assented half-heartedly, "I'll help you. I ain't nobody much in family, now Abigail's done what she has. They's only Eppleby, an' he won't be home Thanksg'vin this year. So I ain't nothin' else to do."