Part 92 (1/2)
”My victuals aint bad when they's cold,” put in Mrs. Purcell here.
”Well, Prissy, can't you do that?” asked her husband.
”You can do it if you like,” she said, getting up at last from the table, whence the great heap of beans had disappeared. ”It ain't nothin' to me what you do.”
Mr. Purcell demanded no more of a concession from his housekeeper, but went forthwith to one cupboard after another and fetched forth a plate and cup and saucer, knife and fork and spoon, and finally bread, a platter with cold fried pork on it, and some b.u.t.ter. He had not washed his hands before shewing this civility; and Rotha looked on in doubtful disgust.
”Where's the coffee, Prissy?”
”The last of it went down your throat. You never leaves a drop in the coffee pot, and wouldn't if there was a half a gallon. What's the use o'
askin' me, when you know that?”
”Can I have a gla.s.s of milk?” said Rotha.
The milk was furnished, and she began to make a very good breakfast on bread and milk.
”Aint there a bit o' pie, Prissy?” asked Mr. Purcell.
”You've swallowed it. There aint no chance for nothin' when you're round.”
Upon which Mr. Purcell laughed and went out, glad no doubt to have the matter of breakfast disposed of without any more trouble. But Rotha eat slowly and thoughtfully. Breakfast was disposed of, but not dinner. How was she to go on? She meditated, tried to gather patience, and at last spoke.
”It is best to arrange this thing,” she said. ”Meals come three times a day. If you will call me, Mrs. Purcell, I will come. If you will not do that, will you set by things for me?”
”Things settin' round draws the flies. We'd be so thick with flies, we couldn't see to eat.”
”What way will you take, then?”
”_I_ don' know!”
All the while she was actively and deftly busy; putting her beans in water, preparing her table, and now sifting flour. Rotha came and stood at one end of the table.
”I should not have thought,” she said, ”that anybody that loved the gospel of John, would treat me so.”
A metallic laugh answered her, which she could not help thinking covered some feeling. The woman's words however were uncompromising.
”I didn't say I loved no gospel of John.”
”No, not in words; but the little book tells of itself that somebody has loved it.”
”I'll put it away, where it won't tell nothin'.”
”My aunt pays you for my board,” Rotha went on, ”and she expects that you will make me comfortable.”
”_What_ does she pay for your board?” said Mrs. Purcell, lifting up her head and flas.h.i.+ng her black eyes at Rotha.
”I do not know what. I did not read her letter. You must know.”
”She don't pay nothin' for you!” said the woman scornfully. ”That's Mis'
Busby! _She's_ a good Christian, and that's the way she does. She'll go to church, and say her prayers regular, and be a very holy woman; but she won't pay n.o.body nothin' if she can help it; and she thinks us'll do it, sooner 'n lose the place, and she can put you off on us for nothin'--don't ye see? So much savin' to her, and she can put the money in the collection. I don't believe in bein' no Christian! Us wouldn't do the like o' that, and us aint no Christians; and I like our kind better 'n her kind.”
Rotha stood petrified.