Leastways, I hope you can. I guess you can. I presume so, anyway."
It was late that afternoon that Lucinda, looking as if she had been
accidentally overtaken by a road-roller, joined Joshua in the potato
cellar.
"Well, the sky c'n fall whenever it likes now!" she said, sitting down on
an empty barrel with a resigned sigh.
"That's a comfort to know," said Joshua.
"She's got it all made up for 'em to marry each other."
"That ain't no great news to me," said Joshua.
"Joshua Whittlesey, you make my blood boil. Things is goin' rackin' and
ruinin' at a great pace here an' you as cold as a cauliflower over it
all."
Joshua sorted potatoes phlegmatically and said nothing.
"S'posin' I'd 'a' wanted to marry him?"
Joshua continued to sort potatoes.
"Or, s'posin' you wanted to marry her?"
Joshua looked up quickly.
"Which one?" he said.
"Janice!"
"Oh," he said in a relieved tone.
"Why did you say 'oh,'--did you think I meant her?"
"I didn't know who you meant."
"Why, you wouldn't think o' marryin' her, would you?"
"No," said Joshua emphatically. "I'd as soon think o' marryin' you
yourself."
Lucinda deliberated for a minute or so as to whether to accept this insult
in silence or not, and finally decided to make just one more remark.
"I wonder if she'll send any word to Arethusa 'n' Mary."
"They'll know soon enough," said Joshua oracularly.
"How'll they know, I'd like to know?"
"You'll write 'em."
Lucinda was dumb.
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