C-mange, marm--I mean Mrs. Plunkett"--for grandma did not like them to
use the village nickname--said Cricket, after a moment, "and Auntie Jean
will be here to-morrow." "An' it's a pretty-spoken lady she is,"
answered Marm Plunkett. "But it's Mis' Maxwell that I allers wants ter
see most. When'll she git to see me agin?" Cricket coloured furiously.
"Grandma's lame, now," she said, speaking up bravely. "I was wrestling
with her, and I threw her, and sprained her ankle. She can't stand on it
much yet." "Good Land o' Goshen! a-wrestlin' with Mis' Maxwell! you
little snip of a gal! and throwed her! for goodness' sake! deary me!
throwed her!" "Yes," said Cricket, with the air of confessing to a
murder, as she set down the blanc-mange. "I _don't_ see how I could have
done it. I just twisted my foot around her ankle. I was just as much
surprised as if the--the church had tumbled over. It was a week ago
Monday." "Jest to think on 't! I never heerd the beat o' that! An'
nobody hain't told