THE TAKIN' IN OF OLD MIS' LANE
"WELL, I guess I might 's well string them beans for dinner before I clean up," said Mrs. Bridges.
She took a large milkpan full of beans from the table, and sat down by the window.
"Isaphene," she said, presently, "what do you say to an organ an' a horse an' buggy—a horse with some style about him, that you could ride or drive, an' that 'u'd always be up when you wanted to go to town?"
"What do I say?" Isaphene was making a cake, and beating the mixture with a long-handled tin spoon. She had reddish-brown hair, that swept away from her brow and temples in waves so deep you could have lost your finger in any one of them; and good, honest, gray eyes, and a mouth that was worth kissing. She wore a blue cotton gown that looked as if it had just left the ironing table. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows. She turned and looked at her mother as if she feared one of them had lost her senses; then she returned to the cake-beating with an air of good-natured disdain.
"Oh, you can smile an' turn your head on one side, but you'll whistle another tune before long, or I'll miss my guess. Isaphene, I've been savin' up chicken and butter money ever since we come to Puget Sound; then I've always got the money for the strawberry crop, an' for the geese an' turkeys, an' the calves, an' so on." Mrs. Bridges slopped, and, lowering her voice to a mysterious, whisper, "Somebody's comin'," she exclaimed.
"Who is it?" Isaphene stood up straight, with that little quick beating, of mingled pleasure and dismay, that the cry of "Company" brings to country hearts.
"I can't see. I don't want to be caught peepin'. I can see it's a woman, though; she's just passin' the row of chrysyanthums. Can't you stoop down an' peep? She won't see you 'way over there by the table."
Isaphene stooped, and peered cautiously through the wild cucumber vines that climbed over the kitchen window.
"Oh, it's Mis' Hanna!"
"My goodness! An' the way this house looks! You'll have to bring her out here in the kitchen, too. I s'pose she's come to spen' the day—she's got her bag, ain't she?"
"Yes. What'll we have for dinner? I ain't goin' to cut this cake for her, I want this for Sunday."
"Why, we've got corn' beef to boil, an' a head o' cabbage, an' these here beans; an' there's potatoes; an' watermelon perserves. An' you can make a custard pie. I guess that's a good enough dinner for her. There! She's knockin'! Open the door, can't you! Well, 'f I ever! Look at that grease spot on the floor!"
"Well, I didn't spill it."
"Who did, then, missy?"
"Well, I never."
Isaphene went to the front door, returning presently, followed by a tall, thin lady.
"Here's Mis' Hanna, maw," she said, with the air of having made a pleasant discovery. Mrs, Bridges got up, very much surprised to find who her visitor was,
- ↑ Note.—This story, in the McClure prize story contest, closed some months ago, was awarded the prize of $500, the highest of the five prizes offered. The author lives at New Whatcom, in the State of Washington.—Editor.
