Holler. Story-'n'-a-half house, a good sullar, an' woods nigh-by full
o' sarsaparilla an' goldthread! I've moved more times in this
God-forsaken place than a Methodist preacher, fust one room an' then
another; an' bad is the best. It was poor pickin's enough afore, but
this is the crowner!"

Miss Dyer said nothing, but two large tears rolled down and dropped on
her work. Mrs. Blair followed their course with gleaming eyes endowed
with such uncomfortable activity that they seemed to pounce with every
glance.

"What under the sun be you carryin' on like that for?" she asked,
giving the handle of the water-pitcher an emphatic twitch to make it
even with the world. "You 'ain't lost nobody, have ye, sence I moved in
here?"

Miss Dyer put aside her knitting with ostentatious abnegation, and
began rocking herself back and forth in her chair, which seemed not of
itself to sway fast enough, and Mrs. Blair's voice rose again, ever
higher and more metallic:--

"I dunno what you've got to complain of more'n the rest of us. Look at
that dress you've got on,--a good thick thibet, an' mine's a cheap,
sleazy alpaca they palmed off on me because they knew my eyesight ain't
what it was once. An' you're settin' right there in the sun, gittin'
het through, an' it's cold as a barn over here by the door. My land! if
it don't make me mad to see anybody without no more sperit than a wet
rag! If you've lost anybody, why don't ye say so? An' if it's a mad
fit, speak out an' say that! Give me anybody that's got a tongue in
their head, _I_ say!"