Under the eaves of the kitchen stood an ash-hopper, from the bottom of
which trickled a tiny amber stream.
"Howdy, Marthy?" said Mrs. Dawson, behind Mrs. Bradley's back. "It was
so still in the house, I 'lowed you wus all dead an' buried."
Mrs. Bradley turned and dropped her paddle. "Why, ef it hain't Mis'
Dawson, as I'm alive! Whar on earth are you bound fer?"
"Jest come over fer a day ur so," was the reply. "I thought some o'
stoppin' at the hotel, but, on second thought, I 'lowed you an' Luke
mought think strange ef I did, so heer I am."
"I've al'ays got room fer a old neighbor, an' you'd a-been lonely at
the hotel. I'm glad you come, but--" Mrs. Bradley took up her paddle
and began to stir the contents of the pot. "I reckon, I ortter tell
you, plain, Mis' Dawson, that John Westerfelt is stayin' with us.
We've got plenty o' room fer you both, but I thought it mought not be
exactly agreeable fer you."
A spiteful fire kindled in Mrs. Dawson's eyes. "It mought upset _him_
a little speck, Marthy, but I hain't done nothin' to be ashamed uv
myse'f.
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