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Hurd's kitchen Marcella found the air of the February evening tonic and delightful. Unconsciously impressions stole upon her the lengthening day, the celandines in the hedges, the swelling lilac buds in the cottage gardens. They spoke to her youth, and out of mere physical congruity it could not but respond. Still, her face kept the angered look with which she had parted from Mrs. Jellison.
Jellison?" said Marcella, taking a wooden stool, the only piece of furniture left in the tiny cottage on which it was possible to sit, and squeezing herself into a corner by the fire, whence she commanded the whole group. "No! don't you turn Mr. Patton out of that chair, Mrs. Hurd, or I shall have to go away." For Mrs.
"Well, I've got it to think about, Mrs. Jellison. We must have a meeting in the village and talk it over one of these days." The old woman nodded in a shrewd silence, and watched them depart. "Wull, I reckon Jimmy Gedge ull lasst my time," she said to herself with a chuckle. If Mrs.
Jellison, nodding mysteriously, triumphant however in the unimpeachable delicacy of her language, and looking round the circle for approval. "What do you say?" asked Marcella, innocently. "What did Mercy Moss do?" Mrs. Jellison's eyes danced with malice and mischief, but her mouth shut like a vice.
Hurd, in her anxiety, was whispering in old Patton's ear that it might be well for him to give up her one wooden arm-chair, in which he was established, to Miss Boyce. But he, being old, deaf, and rheumatic, was slow to move, and Marcella's peremptory gesture bade her leave him in peace. "Well, it's you that's the young 'un, ain't it, miss?" said Mrs. Jellison, cheerfully.
Hurd was at the other end of the cottage with her back to Marcella; at the question, her hands paused an instant in their work. The eyes of all the old people of Patton and his wife, of Mrs. Jellison, and pretty Mrs. Brunt were fixed on the speaker, but nobody said a word, not even Mrs. Jellison. Marcella coloured.
Jellison, composedly, looking up at her. "Well, put 'em down, miss. I dare say he'll eat 'em. He eats most things, and don't want no doctor's stuff nayther, though his mother do keep on at me for spoilin' his stummuck." "You are just fond of that boy, aren't you, Mrs.
When Marcella had taken the only other chair the hovel contained, nothing else remained for Wharton but to flatten himself as closely against the door as he might. "I'm sorry I can't bid yer take a cheer," said Mrs. Jellison to him, "but what yer han't got yer can't give, so I don't trouble my head about nothink."
She walked away quickly, and Mrs. Jellison hobbled after her, grinning to herself every now and then as she caught the straight, tall figure against the red evening sky.
Some of them, however, were by now in the second stage of critical observation none the less critical because furtive and inarticulate. "Ah?" said Mrs. Jellison, interrogatively, with a high, long-drawn note peculiar to her. "Well, I've never found you get forrarder wi' snarlin' over what you can't help. And there's mercies.
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