"B'iled in the pot-liquor!" she whispered, a knowing gleam in her blue
eyes. "That's the way; on'y everybody don't know. An' do you remember
the year we had greens way into the fall, an' I wouldn't tell you what
they was? Well, I will, now; there was chickweed, an' pusley, an'
mustard, an' Aaron's-rod, an' I dunno what all."

"Not Aaron's-rod, Nancy! it never would have been so good!"

"It's truth an' fact! I b'iled Aaron's-rod, an' you eat it. That was
the year Mis' Blaisdell was mad because you had so many meals over to
my house, an' said it was the last time she'd take summer boarders an'
have the neighbors feed 'em."

"They were good old days, Nancy!"

"I guess they were! yes, indeed, I guess so! Now, dear, I s'pose you've
heard what I've been through, sence you went away?"

I put the thin hand to my cheek.

"Yes," I said, "I have heard."

"Well, now, I want to tell you the way it 'pears to me. You'll hear the
neighbors' side, an' arter I'm gone, they'll tell you I was
under-witted or bold. They've been proper good to me sence I've been
sick, but law! what do they know about it, goin' to bed at nine
o'clock, an' gittin' up to feed the chickens an' ride to meetin' with
their husbands? No more'n the dead! An' so I want to tell ye my story,
myself. Now, don't you mind my coughing dear! It don't hurt, to speak