VI
GRANDMA BASCOM
"Deary me!" Grandma Bascom stopped shooing out the hens from her kitchen
doorway, and leaned on the broom-handle. "If here don't come Mis'
Henderson! Now I shall hear about that blessed little creeter and all the
rest of them childern."
"Good-afternoon." The parson's wife went swiftly up the flag-bordered path
between the lilac bushes. "It's a beautiful day, Mrs. Bascom."
"Hey?" Grandma's shaking hand went up to her cap-border, so Mrs. Henderson
had to say it over, that it was a beautiful day, as loud as she could.
"You've come to-day?" said Grandma.
"Yes, I see you have, an' I'm obleeged to you, I'm sure, for it's mighty
lonesome since that blessed little creeter, an' all the rest of them
childern went away. Come in an' set down," and she led the way into the
kitchen.
Meanwhile, the hens, seeing nothing to prevent it, had employed the time in
slipping in under Grandma's short gown, and were busily scratching around
for any stray bits.
"Thank you." The parson's wife nimbly found a chair, while Grandma bustled
into the bedroom.
"Excuse me a minute, Mis' Henderson," she called; "I'm goin' to slip on
t'other cap."
"Oh, don't take the trouble," said Mrs. Henderson's pleasant voice. But she
might as well have said nothing, for Grandma didn't hear a word.
"'Tain't proper to see your minister's wife in your mornin' cap, nor your
petticoat neither for that matter," said Grandma to herself, looking down
at her short gown.
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