Page:Weeds (1923).pdf/185

 "Howdy, ma'am. You come from far?"

"From Williamstown this mornin', ma'am. My husband's a hoss trader an' he follers the court days. We're most allus on the road."

"You like the road?"

"No, ma'am. My husband likes it well enough; but I hain't never cared fer the road. It's a hard life—'specially with three young uns; an' you can't have things much better'n what the gipsies do. 'Tain't so bad purty weather like this; but then comes rains an' we have to take to somebody's barn, an' sometimes stuck there fer four or five days hand runnin'. It's hard then to dry the young uns' clothes an' to git any kind o' warm cooked food fer 'em. An' if they was to fall sick, I dunno what I would do. I'm allus glad when winter comes an' we have to go into lodgings somewhere. But 'tain't like havin' your own home."

"Would you rather your husband was a farmer?"

Deed I would, ma'am," answered the woman eagerly. She seemed to be glad to have some one of her own sex to talk to. "There hain't nothin' I'd like better'n to have a little home o' my own an' never have to move out'n it. I'd have flowers in the yard an' lace curtains on the front winders; an' I'd keep my three little gals dressed nice an' have a white cloth on the table. But seems like folks hain't in this world to git what they want, 'specially wimmin. Well, it's the men that has to earn the livin', an' I s'pose they gotta do it the way seems best to 'em."

She sighed resignedly.

Judith felt sorry for the woman. To some extent she could understand her point of view. It was as if sister Lizzie May, with all her finnicky little housewifely instincts, had fallen to be the wife of a wandering horse trader. She herself thought the life would be a jolly one, if one had no babies.

She turned away with a word of good-by and went on into Main Street, where she made delightful explorations in the dry-goods stores. Here in the dim coolness that smelt alluringly of new cotton goods, she wandered around with other back