Thankful opened her eyes.The sunlight was streaming in at the window.Beneath that window hens were clucking noisily.Also in the room adjoining someone was talking, protesting.
"I don't know, Hannah," said Mr.Parker's voice."I tell you Idon't know where it is.If I knew I'd tell you, wouldn't I? Idon't seem to remember what I done with it.""Well, then, you've got to set down and not stir till you do remember, that's all.When you went out of this house last evenin'
to go to the postoffice-- Oh, yes! To the postoffice--that's where you said you was goin'--you had the lantern and that umbrella.When you came back, hollerin' about the light you see in the Cap'n Abner house, you had the lantern.But the umbrella you didn't have.Now where is it?""I don't know, Hannah.I--I--do seem to remember havin' had it, but--""Well, I'm glad you remember that much.You lost one of your mittens, too, but 'twas an old one, so I don't mind that so much.
But that umbrella was your Christmas present and 'twas good gloria silk with a real gilt-plated handle.I paid two dollars and a quarter for that umbrella, and I told you never to take it out in a storm because you were likely to turn it inside out and spile it.
If I'd seen you take it last night I'd have stopped you, but you was gone afore I missed it.""But--but, consarn it all, Hannah--"
"Don't swear, Kenelm.Profanity won't help you none.""I wa'n't swearin'.All I say is what's the use of an umbrella if you can't hist it in a storm? I wouldn't give a darn for a schooner load of 'em when 'twas fair weather.I--I cal'late I--Ileft it somewheres."
"I cal'late you did.I'm goin' over to the village this mornin'
and I'll stop in at that clubhouse, myself.""I--I don't believe it's at the clubhouse, Hannah.""You don't? Why don't you?"
"I--I don't know.I just guess it ain't, that's all.Somethin'
seems to tell me 'tain't."
"Oh, it does, hey? I want to know! Hum! Was you anywheres else last night? Answer me the truth now, Kenelm Parker.Was you anywheres else last night?""Anywheres else.What do you mean by that?""I mean what I say.You know what I mean well enough.Was you--well, was you callin' on anybody?"
"Callin' on anybody? CALLIN' on 'em?"
"Yes, callin' on 'em.Oh, you needn't look so innocent and buttery! You ain't above it.Ain't I had experience? Haven't Ibeen through it? Didn't you use to say that I, your sister that's been a mother to you, was the only woman in this world for you, and then, the minute I was out of sight and hardly out of hearin', you--""My soul! You've got Abbie Larkin in your head again, ain't you?
It--it--I swear it's a reg'lar disease with you, seems so.Ain't Itold you I ain't seen Abbie Larkin, nor her me, for the land knows how long? And I don't want to see her.My time! Do you suppose Iwaded and paddled a mile and a quarter down to call on Abbie Larkin a night like last night? What do you think I am--a bull frog? Iwouldn't do it to see the--the Queen of Rooshy."This vehement outburst seemed to have some effect.Miss Parker's tone was more conciliatory.
"Well, all right," she said."I s'pose likely you didn't call on her, if you say so, Kenelm.I suppose I am a foolish, lone woman.
But, O Kenelm, I do think such a sight of you.And you know you've got money and that Abbie Larkin is so worldly she'd marry you for it in a minute.I didn't know but you might have met her.""Met her! Tut--tut--tut! If that ain't--and in a typhoon like last night! Oh, sartin, I met her! I was up here on top of Meetin'-house Hill, larnin' her to swim in the mud puddles.You do talk so silly sometimes, Hannah.""Maybe I do," with a sniff."Maybe I do, Kenelm, but you mean so much to me.I just can't let you go.""Go! I ain't goin' nowheres, am I? What kind of talk's that?""And to think you'd heave away that umbrella--the umbrella I gave you! That's what makes me feel so bad.A nice, new, gilt-plated umbrella--""I never hove it away.I--I--well, I left it somewheres, I--Ical'late.I'll go look for it after breakfast.Say, when are we goin' to have breakfast, anyhow? It's almost eight o'clock now.
Ain't them women-folks EVER goin' to turn out?"Thankful had heard enough.She was out of bed the next instant.
"Emily! Emily!" she cried."It's late.We must get up now."The voices in the sitting-room died to whispers.
"I--I can't help it," pleaded Kenelm."I never meant nothin'.Ithought they was asleep.And 'TIS most eight.By time, Hannah, you do pick on me--"A vigorous "Sshh!" interrupted him.The door between the sitting-room and dining-room closed with a slam.Mrs.Barnes and Emily dressed hurriedly.
They gathered about the breakfast table, the Parkers, Captain Obed and the guests.Miss Parker's "company manner" was again much in evidence and she seemed to feel it her duty to lead the conversation.She professed to have discovered a striking resemblance between Miss Howes and a deceased relative of her own named Melinda Ellis.
"The more I see of you, Miss Howes," she declared, "the more Ican't help thinkin' of poor Melindy.She was pretty and had dark eyes and hair same's you've got, and that same sort of--of consumptic look to her.Not that you've got consumption, I don't mean that.Only you look the way she done, that's all.She did have consumption, poor thing.Everybody thought she'd die of it, but she didn't.She got up in the night to take some medicine and she took the wrong kind--toothache lotion it was and awful powerful--and it ate right through to her diagram.She didn't live long afterwards, poor soul."No one said anything for a moment after this tragic recital.Then Captain Bangs observed cheerfully:
"Well, I guess Miss Howes ain't likely to drink any toothache lotion."Hannah nodded sedately."I trust not," she said."But accidents do happen.And Melindy and Miss Howes look awful like each other.
