"Up to Sarah's. Charlotte, she's gone down to Rebecca's. She's
terrible thick with Rebecca. Well, I've been to see Rebecca; an'
Rose, she's been, an' I ain't nothin' to say. William has got her for
a wife, an' we've got to hold up our heads before folks; an' when it
comes right down to it, there's a good many folks can't say much. If
Charlotte Barnard wants to be thick with Rebecca, she can. Her mother
won't say nothin'. She always was as easy as old Tilly; an' as for
Cephas, he's either eatin' grass, or he ain't eatin' grass, an'
that's all he cares about, unless he gets stirred up about politics,
the way he did with Barney Thayer. I dunno but Charlotte thinks
she'll get him back again goin' to see Rebecca. I miss my guess but
what she sees him there sometimes. I wouldn't have a daughter of mine
chasin' a fellar that had give her the mitten; but Charlotte ain't
got no pride, nor her mother, neither. Where did you say you'd been,
trapesin' through the snow?"
"Has Rose got her things most done?" asked Sylvia, desperately.
Distress was awakening duplicity in her simple, straightforward
heart. All Hannah Berry's thought slid, as it were, in well-greased
grooves; only give one a starting push and it went on indefinitely
and left all others behind, and her sister Sylvia knew it.
"Well, she's got 'em pretty near done," replied Hannah Berry.
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