At first, when Ethie was so sick, everything had been merged in the one absorbing thought of her danger, and even the knowledge accidentally obtained that Richard had paid Miss Bigelow's fare out there and would pay it back, had failed to produce more than a passing pang in the bosom of the close, calculating, economical Mrs.Markham; but when the danger was past, it kept recurring again and again, with very unpleasant distinctness, that Aunt Barbara was an expense they could well do without.

Nobody could quarrel with Aunt Barbara--she was so mild, and gentle, and peaceable--and Mrs.Markham did not quarrel with her, but she thought about her all the time, and fretted over her, and remembered the letter she had written about her ways and her being good to Ethie, and wondered what she was there for, and why she did not go home, and asked her what time they generally cleaned house in Chicopee, and if she dared trust her cleaning with Betty.

Aunt Barbara was a great annoyance, and she complained to Eunice and Mrs.Jones, and Melinda, who had returned from Washington, that she was spoiling Ethelyn, babying her so, and making her think herself so much weaker than she was.
"Mercy knew," she said, that in her day, when she was young and having children, she did not hug the bed forever.

She had something else to do, and was up and around in a fortnight at the most.

Her table wasn't loaded down with oranges and figs, and the things they called banannys, which fairly made her sick at her stomach.