“Kill her, a dog's hind foot!” Porter sneered. “To be a woman yorse'f, you are the porest judge of 'em I ever seed. You women are so dead anxious to have some man die fer you that you think the same reckless streak runs in yore own veins. You all said Minnie Wade had tuck powdered glass when she was sick that time an' was goin' to pass in 'er checks on this feller's account, but she didn't die fer him, nor fer Thad Pelham, nor the two Thomas boys, nor Abe Spring, nor none o' the rest.” “You ought to be ashamed of speaking of your own child in the same breath with that girl,” said Mrs. Porter, insincerely, her eyes anxiously on the door through which Cynthia had gone. “I hain't bunchin' 'em together at all,” Porter declared. “I was only tryin' to keep you from layin' in a burial outfit that may go out o' fashion 'fore Cynthy wants to use it. You watch 'er an' you'll see 'er pick up' in a day or so. I've seed widows wear black so heavy that the dye in the goods seemed to soak into the'r skins an' drip of'n the'r eyelashes, an' them same women was wearin' red stockin's an' flirtin' em at another fool inside of a month.” “You don't know what you are talking about,” responded Mrs. Porter. “It is going hard with her, but I really hope Floyd'll not come back to Spring-town. I don't feel safe with him around.” “You don't want 'im here,” sneered Porter, “but yo're dead sure his absence is a-goin' to lay our only child under the sod. That's about as sensible as the stand a woman takes on most questions. As fer me, I confess I'm sorter upset. I'd about made up my mind that our little gal was goin' to yank that chap an' his boodle into this family before long, but it looks like I was off in my calculations. To look at her now, a body wouldn't think she was holdin' the drivin'-reins very tight. But come what may, storm, hail, wind, rain, or sunshine an' fine crops, I'll be the only one, I reckon, in this house that will sleep sound to-night. An' that's whar you are all a set o' fools. A person that loses sleep wonderin' whether another person is dead or alive mought be in better business, in this day and time, when just _anybody_ is liable to drap dead in the'r tracks. La, me! What you got fer dinner? I smell some'n' a-cookin'.” And Porter went into the kitchen, got down on his knees at the stove, and looked into it. “That's all right,” he said to himself, with a chuckle, “but she hain't put half enough gravy on it, an' ef I hadn't a-been here to 'a' turned it, it 'ud not 'a' got cooked clean through. If it's tough I'll raise a row. I told 'em to sell the tough 'uns. What's the use o' raisin' hens ef you have to eat the scrubs an' don't git half-pay fer the ones you send to market?” XXVII