Isaiah looked at her suspiciously.

"Huh?" he grunted. "Who told you that?"

"Nobody. I just guessed it from what you said."

"Humph! Well, you guessed right. I don't have many spare minutes."

"Yes, sir. Are you a perfect slave?"

"Eh? What?"

"Mrs. Hobbs says she is a perfect slave when she has to work hard."

"Who's Mrs. Hobbs?"

"She's--she keeps house--that is, she used to keep house for my father
over in Ostable. I don't suppose she will any more now he's dead. She'll
be glad, I guess. Perhaps she won't have to be a perfect slave now.
She used to wear aprons same as you do. I never saw a man wear an apron
before. Do you have to wear one?"

"Hey? Have to? No, course I don't have to unless I want to."

Mary-'Gusta reflected.

"I suppose," she went on, after a moment, "it saves your pants. You'd
get 'em all spotted up if you didn't wear the apron. Pneumonia is a good
thing to take out Spots."