Poor Bertha was so frightened she didn't remember anything but the clock
and a china cat and an easel and picture, and before I could count Mrs.
Reagan came in.

She stopped in the doorway, and had we come from leper-land she couldn't
have held herself farther off.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked, and she tried the haughty
air--"What are you doing in here?"

"We were waiting for you," I said. "We have a message from Miss Jones."

"Well, another time don't wait in here, and don't come to the front door
if you have a message from Miss Jones or Miss Any-body-else. I don't
want any pickles this year. Had I wanted any I would have sent her word.
You understand? Don't ever come here again in this way!" And she waved
us out as if we were flies.

For a minute I looked at her as if she were a Mrs. Jorley's wax-works,
and then I made a bow like I make in charades.

"We understand," I said. "And we will not come again. We've heard a
good many people in Yorkburg have been once and no more." And I bowed
again and walked past her like she was a stage character, which she was,
being a pretence and nothing else.

Mad? I tell you, I was Martha for a week, and then I saw, real sudden,
how silly I was to let a bulgarian make me mad.