Wiggins backed out the horse, and they went home. Mother asked them to
come again, and she'd try and have a better dinner, but they said they'd
never set foot in the house again if they knew it."
"Didn't anybody eat the stew?"
"Nobody but Sammy Wiggins; he ate his whole plateful, saleratus and all,
before anybody spoke."
"Oh dear!" said Ruth; "I suppose mother feels dreadfully. Where is she?"
"She's gone over to Lucy Ann's to help her take care of the baby; he was
real sick last night. I don't believe she'll come home till after
supper. She felt dreadful."
"The Wigginses are dreadful touchy folks, anyhow."
"Course they are. It don't seem as if anybody with any sense would get
mad at such a thing. But they're always suspecting folks of meaning
something."
Ruth looked sternly reflective. She took off her thick dingy shawl, and
got from its peg a bright red and green plaid one that she wore in
pleasant weather.
"Where are you going?" asked Serena.
"I'm going over to the Wigginses'."
"What for?"
"I'm going to ask them to come over here to-morrow and spend the day."
"Why, Ruth Whitman, ain't you afraid to?"
"No, I ain't afraid. I'm going to carry over a jar of the honey--mother
'll be willing--and I'm going to tell Mrs. Wiggins just how it was."
"She won't hear a word you say."
"I'll make her hear."
"They won't come a step."
"You see.
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