There was silence in the room for a moment after Lydia left it, then
Amos said, "I'll be glad to do anything I can, Marshall."

"Neither of you'll lay a finger on Lydia," interrupted Lizzie. "If you
want to lick any one, go lick Elviry Marshall, the fool! Why, I knew
her when she was my niece's hired girl and you, Dave Marshall, was
selling cans of tomatoes over a counter. And she's bringing that young
one up to be a silly little fool. Mark my words, she'll be the prey of
the first fortune-hunter that comes along."

To Amos's surprise, Marshall only scowled at Lizzie, who now began to
remove the supper dishes, talking in a whisper to herself. She paused
once in front of Marshall with the teapot in one hand and the milk
pitcher in the other.

"Coming and going with your nose in the air, Dave, I suppose you never
notice Lydia, but you've had a good look at her to-night, and mind well
what I mean when I say you know as well as I that children like Lydia
are rare and that your young one ought to consider it a privilege to be
pulled out of the water by her."

Old Lizzie pounded out of the room and there was a clatter of dishes
that ably expressed her frame of mind. Above the clatter and down from
the children's bedroom floated Lydia's little contralto lilt:

"Wreathe me no gaudy chaplet;
Make it from simple flowers
Plucked from the lowly valley
After the summer showers."