“You're a good gal, Betsy,” she said in the overflow of her emotions. “I was saying to my darter yesterday that I wish all the gals round here was as good and considerate as you be.”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Payson,” said Betsy modestly. “I ain't any better than girls generally.”
“Yes, you be. There's my granddarter, Jane, ain't so respectful as she'd arter be to her old grandma'am. I often tell her that when she gets to have children of her own, she'll know what tis to be a pilgrim an' a sojourner on the arth without nobody to consider her feelin's. Your cider is putty good.” Here the old lady took a large draft, and set down the mug with a sigh of satisfaction. “It's jest the thing to take when a body's tired. It goes to the right spot. Cynthy Ann's husband didn't have none made this year. I wonder ef your ma would sell a quart or two of it.”
“You can have it and welcome, Mrs. Payson.”
“Can I jest as well as not? Well, that's kind. But I didn't expect you to give it to me.”
“I dunno how I can carry it home,” said the lady hesitatingly. “I wonder ef some of your folks won't be going up our way within a day or two.”
“We will send it. I guess father'll be going up to-morrow.”
“Then ef you can spare it you might send round a gallon, an' ef there's anything to pay I'll pay for it.”
This little business arrangement being satisfactorily adjusted, and the pie consumed, Mrs. Payson got up and said she must be going.
“I'm afraid you haven't got rested yet, Mrs. Payson.”
“I ain't hardly,” was the reply; “but I guess I shall stop on the way at Mis' Frost's. Tell your ma I'll come up an' see her ag'in afore long.”
“An' you won't forget to send over that cider?”
“I'm ashamed to trouble ye, but their ain't anybody over to our house that I can send. There's Tom grudges doin' anything for his old grandma'am. A'ter all that I do for him, too! Good-by!”
The old lady set out on her way to Mrs. Frost's.
Her road lay through the woods, where an unforeseen danger lay in wait for her.
Meanwhile Pomp was pursuing military science under difficulties. The weight of the musket made it very awkward for him to handle. Several times he got out of patience with it, and apostrophized it in terms far from complimentary. At last, in one of his awkward maneuvers, he accidentally pulled the trigger. Instantly there was a loud report, followed by a piercing shriek from the road. The charge had entered old Mrs. Payson's umbrella and knocked it out of her hand. The old lady fancied herself hit, and fell backward, kicking energetically, and screaming “murder” at the top of her lungs.