“’Tis a pity to _tear_ open such a beautiful envelope,” she said. “You have your cup o’ tea. I’ll steam it over the kettle.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t time for tea, especially having to take Mr. Skindle a bit back,” said Jinny, almost as mystified as Martha herself. “I’m late already, and Gran’fer will be roaring for his supper. I must read it now or never.”
“If it was anything unpleasant,” wavered Martha, “Flynt would be very upset. And after sitting up all night with Maria—no, he must have a good sleep—better put it off till the morning.”
“To-morrow, I won’t be here. No, not till next Friday.”
“But I’ve got to go to-morrow to Miss Gentry and she can read it.”
“Yes, Flynt wants to have my bonnet cleaned—vanity and waste, I call it.”
“But won’t that tire you—such a long walk? Why can’t I take the bonnet to-night? I’ll be passing her house.”
“We haven’t finished talking it over yet, Flynt and me,” parried Martha. “I might be having a new bonnet, you see, dearie.”
“Well, of course, it’s just as you wish. But suppose it rains to-morrow.”
“Rains?” repeated Martha, feeling—she knew not why—like an animal at bay. Then she drew a great breath of relief. Footsteps and voices were borne towards them. “Caleb!” she cried joyfully, “Will’s in London—he’s coming to see his old mother.”
“Good buoy-oy!” cried Caleb jovially. It was only what he had expected the letter would say, but at heart he shrank from the change—he had finally equated himself to the dual solitude, and the home-coming prodigal loomed as menacing as Cousin Caroline.
“Good boy?” echoed Martha. “I should think he _is_—never cared for girls. And still unmarried.”
“There’s a chance for you, Jinny,” chaffed Caleb.
“Oh, how can you talk such nonsense!” Jinny was furiously angry. “Basket, Nip,” she called sharply, and climbed up to her seat almost as swiftly as he leapt into his.
“Are you coming, Mr. Skindle?” In her abstraction and to busy herself about something, she automatically removed the parcel of stones from the driving-seat.
“In a jiffy.” Elijah did not bound as obediently as Nip—he could not lose the chance to pontificate before her. “Not at all so well as you think, Mrs. Flynt. We experts can see what even the breeder can’t. Keep her upon corn and peas—give her just soft stuff.” And he vaulted not ungracefully to Jinny’s side.