"I do wish it."

"Thank you; I want to have a good visit with you. I don't know
when I'll see you again."

As she moved about, getting dinner on the table, Will sat with
gloomy face, listening to the "clack" of the old man. The room was
a poor little sitting room, with furniture worn and shapeless; hardly
a touch of pleasant color, save here and there a little bit of Agnes's
handiwork. The lounge, covered with calico, was rickety; the
rocking chair matched it, and the carpet of rags was patched and
darned with twine in twenty places. Everywhere was the influence
of the Kinneys. The furniture looked like them, in fact.

Agnes was outwardly calm, but her real distraction did not escape
Mrs. Kinney's hawklike eyes.

"Well, I declare if you hain't put the butter on in one o' my blue
chainy saucers! Now you know I don't allow that saucer to be took
down by nobody. I don't see what's got into yeh. Anybody'd s'pose
you never see any comp'ny b'fore-wouldn't they, Pa?"

"Sh'd say th' would," said Pa, stopping short in a long story about
Ed. "Seems if we couldn't keep anything in this' house sep'rit from
the rest. Ed he uses my currycomb-"

He launched out a long list of grievances, which Will shut his ears
to as completely as possible, and was thinking how to stop him,
when there was a sudden crash. Agnes had dropped a plate.