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Amelia’s face had grown scarlet. “I dunno’s any such speech is called for here,” said she, in a furious self-betrayal. Josiah Pease had always been able to storm her reserves.

“Law, no,” answered he comfortably. “It come into my mind,–that’s all.”

She looked at Enoch with a passionate sympathy, knowing too well how the hidden sting was intended to work. But Enoch had not heard. He was absorbed in a finer problem of brass and iron; and though Amelia had wished to save him from hurt, in that instant she scorned him for his blindness. “I guess I shall have to ask you to move,” she said to her husband coldly. “I’ve got to git to that stove, if we’re goin’ to have any dinner to-day.”

It seemed to her that even Enoch might take the hint, and clear away his rubbish. Her feelings might have been assuaged by a clean hearth and some acquiescence in her own mood. But he only moved back a little, and went on fitting and musing. He was not thinking of her in the least, nor even of Josiah Pease. His mind had entered its brighter, more alluring world. She began to fry her pork and apples, with a perfunctory attempt at conversation. “You don’t often git round so early in the spring,” said she.

“No,” returned cousin Josiah. “I kind o’ got started out, this time, I don’t rightly know why. I guess I’ve had you in mind more of late, for some Tiverton folks come over our way, tradin’, an’ they brought all the news. It sort o’ stirred me up to come.”

Amelia turned her apples vigorously, well aware that the slices were breaking. That made a part of her bitter day.

“Folks needn’t take the trouble to carry news about me,” she said. There was an angry gleam in her eyes. “If anybody wants to know anything, let ’em come right here, an’ I’ll settle ’em.” The ring of her voice penetrated even to Enoch’s perception, and he looked up in mild surprise. She seemed to have thrown open, for an instant, a little window into a part of her nature he had never seen.

“How good them apples smell!” said Josiah innocently. “Last time I had ’em was down to cousin Amasa True’s, he that married his third wife, an’ she run through all he had. I went down to see ’em arter the vandoo,–you know they got red o’ most everything,–an’ they had fried pork an’ apples for dinner. Old Bashaby dropped in. ‘Law!’ says she. ‘Fried pork an’ apples! Well, I call that livin’ pretty nigh the wind!'” Josiah chuckled. He was very warm now, and the savory smell of the dish he decried was mounting to what served him for fancy. “‘Melia, you ain’t never had your teeth out, have ye?” he asked, as one who spoke from richer memories.

“I guess my teeth’ll last me as long as I want ’em,” said Amelia curtly.

“Well, I didn’t know. They looked real white an’ firm last time I see ’em, but you never can tell how they be underneath. I knew the folks would ask me when I got home. I thought I’d speak.”

“Dinner’s ready,” said Amelia. She turned an alien look upon her husband. “You want to wash your hands?”

Enoch rose cheerfully. He had got to a hopeful place with the clock.

“Set ri’ down,” said he. “Don’t wait a minute. I’ll be along.”

So Amelia and the guest began their meal, while little Rosie climbed, rather soberly, into her higher chair, and held out her plate.

“You wait,” said Amelia harshly. “Can’t you let other folks eat a mouthful before you have to have yours?” Yet as she said it, she remembered, with a remorseful pang, that she had always helped the child first; it had been so sweet to see her pleased and satisfied.

Josiah was never talkative during meals. Not being absolute master of his teeth, his mind dwelt with them. Amelia remembered that, with a malicious satisfaction. But he could not be altogether dumb. That, people said, would never happen to Josiah Pease while he was above ground.