He put out his hand to her.
"I know it," he says.
"I know too," says she.
"Land!" says I, "you done that awful pretty. If I could give in that graceful about anything I'd go round giving in whether I'd said anything to be sorry for or not. I'd do it for a parlor trick."
"Was it hard, dear?" he says to her. And she put up her face to him just as if I hadn't been there. I liked that. And it made me feel as much at home as the clock.
He looked hard at me.
"Truly," he says, "didn't you mean she looked bad?"
"I meant just what I said," says I. "She did look bad. But she don't now."
"And you made it all up," she says, "about something serious being the matter with him—"
"Made it up!" says I. "No! But what ailed him this morning doesn't ail him now. That's all. I s'pose you're both mad at me," I says, mournful.