' Henry brought a real nice
one home from the store that very night; and I hung it out of sight
behind the sitting room door; I told Henry I thought 'twould be safer
there."
"That sounds exactly like you, Abby," commented Mrs. Whittle
censoriously. "I should think Henry Daggett would be onto you, by
now."
"Well, he ain't," said Mrs. Daggett, with mild triumph. "He thinks
I'm real cute, an' like that. It does beat all, don't it? how simple
menfolks are. I like 'em all the better for it, myself. If Henry'd
been as smart an' penetrating as some folks, I don't know as we'd
have made out so well together. Ain't it lucky for me he ain't?"
Ann Whittle sniffed suspiciously. She never felt quite sure of Abby
Daggett: there was a lurking sparkle in her demure blue eyes and a
suspicious dimple near the corner of her mouth which ruffled Mrs.
Whittle's temper, already strained to the breaking point by the heat
and dust of their midday journey.
"Well, I never should have thought of such a thing, as going to
Ladies' Aid in all this heat, if you hadn't come after me, Abby," she
said crossly. "I guess flannel petticoats for the heathen could have
waited a spell."
"Mebbe they could, Ann," Mrs. Daggett said soothingly. "It's kind of
hard to imagine a heathen wanting any sort of a petticoat this
weather, and I guess they don't wear 'em before they're converted;
but of course the missionaries try to teach 'em better. They go
forth, so to say, with the Bible in one hand and a petticoat in the
other.
Pages:
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183