'"
"My life!" exclaimed Mrs. Tomkins.
"I declare," said Mrs. Ploughman, "I wouldn't be Mrs. Wicket, or Miss
Beal, not for a thousand dollars."
Mrs. Tomkins sighed. "It's real sad," she said. "I'd like to find Mr.
Jeminy; it would ease the old woman's last hours. But he's likely far
away by this time. And there's no one could spare the time to go after
him, even if a body knew where he was. Though I've an idea he went
south, through Milford. Walking, I should say."
"The ole vagabone," exclaimed Mrs. Ploughman.
"Yes," Mrs. Tomkins declared with energy, "it's a wicked sin, Mrs.
Ploughman, for him to be away now, and Mrs. Grumble taken down mortal.
He's been a good friend to William for nigh on twenty years. I'd go
after him myself, if it weren't for my rheumatism."
"Well," said Mrs. Ploughman, "I never heard of such a thing."
"There's lots you never heard of, Mrs. Ploughman," said Mrs. Tomkins.
And folding her hands, she gazed at her friend with quiet satisfaction.
Little Juliet, playing on the steps with her doll Sara, missed none of
this conversation, only a part of which, however, she understood.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119