Matt and Harriet were alone in the kitchen. The girl was crocheting, the boy daubing flowers on a board, which he slid under the table as he heard his mother stamping off the wet snow in the passage. Mrs. Strang detected the board, but she contented herself by ordering him to go to bed. Then she warmed her frozen hands at the stove and relapsed into silence. Twenty times she opened her lips to address Harriet, but the words held back. She grew angry with her daughter at last.
“You’re plaguy onsociable to-night, Harriet,” she said, sharply.
“Yes, you. You might tell a body the news.”
“There’s no news to Cobequid. Ole Jupe’s come back from fiddlin’ at a colored ball way down Hants County. He says two darkies hed a fight over the belle.”
Harriet ceased, and her needles clicked on irritatingly. Mrs. Strang burst forth:
“What news can there be down to Ole Hey’s?” Harriet snapped.
“Deacon Hailey,” began Mrs. Strang, curiously stung by the familiar nickname, and pricked by resentment into courage; then her voice failed, and she concluded, almost in a murmur, “is a-thinkin’ of marryin’ agen.”
“The ole wretch!” ejaculated Harriet, calmly continuing her crocheting.
“He’s not so ole!” expostulated Mrs. Strang, meekly.
“He’s sixty! Why, _you_ might as well think o’ marryin’! The idea!”
“Well, it’s jest es ole. Love-makin’ is on’y for the young.”
“Thet’s jest where you’re wrong, Harriet. Youth is enjoyment enough of itself. It is the ole folks that hev nothin’ else to look fur thet want to be loved. It’s the on’y thing thet keeps ’em from throwin’ up the position, an’ _they_ marry sensibly. Young folks oughter wait till they’ve got sense.”
“The longer they wait the less sense they’ve got! If two people love each other they ought to marry at once, thet’s a fact.”
“Yes; if they’re two ole sensible people.”
“I’m tar’d o’ this talk o’ waitin’,” said Harriet, petulantly. “How ole were you when you ran away with father?”
“You ondecent minx!” ejaculated Mrs. Strang.
“You weren’t no older nor me,” persisted Harriet, unabashed.
“Yes, but I lived in a great city. I saw young men of all shapes and sizes. I picked from the tree--I didn’t take the fust thet fell at my feet; an’ how you can look at an onsightly critter like Abner Preep! I’d rayther see you matched with Roger Besant, for though his left shoulder _is_ half an inch higher than the right a’most, from carrying heavy timbers in the ship-yard, he don’t bend his legs like a couple o’ broken candles.”