"Oh, yes, he would!" said Lucy, emphatically. "My roses don't appeal
to Mr. Bob."

"Well, he likes yer eyes, anyway," said Mrs. Wiggs, determined to
carry her point.

"Who said so?" demanded Lucy.

"He did. I ast him. I said they was regular star-eyes, jes' shining
blue with them black eyelashes rayin' out all 'round, an' he said
yes, that was the right name fer 'em--star-eyes."

There was a mist over the star-eyes as Lucy turned away.

"That's right; set right down there by the winder. It's so pretty
out today it makes you feel good clean down yer back."

"I believe you always feel that way," said Lucy, pulling off her
gloves. "Don't you ever worry over things?"

Mrs. Wiggs grew serious. "I'm lonesome fer Jimmy all the time," she
said simply. "Some folks goes right under when trouble comes, but I
carry mine fur an' easy."

"I don't mean grieving," said Lucy; "I mean worrying and fretting."

"Well, yes," admitted Mrs. Wiggs, taking a hot iron from the stove,
"I 've done that, too. I remember onct last winter I was tooken
sick, an' I got to pesterin' 'bout what the childern 'ud do if I