Brown's son! Well, 'f your mind don't run queer ways!
Whatever sh'd put such an idea into your head? I hope you 'll excuse
my sayin' so, Mrs. Lathrop, but I don't believe anybody but you would
ever 'a' asked such a question, when you know 's well 's everybody
else does 't he's runnin' his legs off after Amelia Fitch. Any man who
wants a little chit o' eighteen wouldn't suit my taste much, 'n'
anyhow I never thought of him; I only asked him to come in in a
friendly way 'n' tell me how long he thinks 't father may live. I
don't see my way to makin' any sort o' plans with father so dreffle
indefinite, 'n' a man who was fool enough to marry me, tied up like I
am now, would n't have s'fficient brains to be worth lookin' over.
Mrs. Brown's son 's learnin' docterin', 'n' he's been at it long
enough so 's to be able to see through anythin' 's simple 's father,
_I_ sh'd think. 'T any rate, 'f he don't know nothin' yet, Heaven help
Amelia Fitch 'n' me, f'r he'll take us both in."
"Who was you thinkin' o'--" Mrs. Lathrop asked, resuming her former
occupation.
"The minister," replied Miss Clegg. "I did n't stop to consider very
much, but it struck me 's polite to begin with him.
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