furtively rubbed her eyes.

"Oh, yes, yes—I—" she began.

"Well, he wanted as I should come right over an' tell you to-night. An' I told him 't I would."

"Tell me wh—"

"I shall break it to you as easy as I can, Mrs. Lathrop; but there 's no denyin' as it 'll come very sharp on you at the end."

Mrs. Lathrop ceased to rub her eyes, and a vague apprehension opened them effectually instead.

"I presume, if you saw him at all, you saw how long he stayed?"

"Yes, I—"

"All of two hours, an' his talk was as dumfounderin' on me as it will be on you. I 'd never thought o' any such doin's in this direction. I always looked on as a complete outsider, did n't you?"

"I don't un—"

Susan had shed her jacket and cap while talking; she now took a chair and surveyed her friend with the air of one who has pain to inflict and yet is firm.

Mrs. Lathrop looked frankly troubled.

"Well, Mrs. Lathrop, you 'd ought to know me well enough, after all these years, to know as I shall make this as easy as I can for you. Perhaps the best way 'll be to go 'way back to the beginnin' an' speak o' when Mrs. White died. It'll be a proper leadin' up, for if she had n't died, he 'd never 'a' come to see me this afternoon, an' I 'd never 'a' come to see you to-night. Howsumsever, she did die; an', bein' dead, I will say for her husband as you don't find chick or child in town to deny as a nicer, tidier, more biddable little man never lived; 'n' 's far as my personal feelin's go, I should think 't any woman might consider it nothin' but a joy to get a man 's is always so long on the door-mat 'n' so busy with his tie 's the deacon is. He got some wore out toward the last o' her illness, for she was give' up in September 'n' died in July; but even then I 've heard Mrs. Allen say 's it was jus' pretty to see him putterin' aroun' busy 's a bee, tryin' to keep dusted up for the funeral any minute." Susan paused to sigh.

"Seems like she did n't die but yesterday," she said reminiscently; "don't seem like it can possibly be over a year. I never can but remember them last days: they stand out afore me like a needle in a camel's eye. Nobody could n't say 's everythin' was n't done; they had two doctors 'n' a bill 't the drug-store, but the end come at last. She begin to sink 'n' sink, 'n' young Dr. Brown said that way o' sinkin' away was always, to his mind, one o' the most unfortunate features o' dyin'. He said he knowed lots o' people 's 'd be alive 'n' well now if they could just o' been kept from that sinkin' away. Old Dr. Carter told Mrs. Jilkins his theory was 't while the pulse beats there 's life; but even he had to admit 's Mrs. White was about beat out. 'N' it was so, too; for she died while they was talkin', 'n' the deacon just beginnin' on cleanin' the pantry shelves. He had to put all the dishes back on top o' the old papers; 'n' any one could see how hard it was for him, for he 'd counted on havin' everythin' spick 'n' span at the end.

"Well, that was a busy time! It 's too bad you have to miss so much, Mrs. Lathrop; now, that day at Mrs. White's would 'a' done you a world o' good. There was a great deal o' company, 'n' the newspaper man led off, comin' to know what she died of. He explained he had to know right away, 'cause if she did n't die o' nothin' in particular, they needed the extra line for stars to show up a cod-liver oil advertisement. I said the deacon was the one to ask, 'n' we hunted high 'n' low for him until Mrs. Jilkins remembered 's he'd took them keys Mrs. White always had under her pillow 'n' gone up attic to see what trunks they fitted. Mrs. Macy had to holler him down; 'n', my! but he was snappy. He said, 'Ask Dr. Brown,' 'n' then he clumb straight back up his ladder; 'n' Dr. Brown said 's she died o' the complete seclusion of her aspirational 'n' bronchoid tubes. I could see 't the newspaper man did n't know how to spell it, 'n' he told young Dr. Brown any such doin's 'd squeeze the cod-liver oil over into next week, which could n't be considered for a minute. 'N' then he went on to say 't if folks want to die o' more 'n one line, they 've got to do it Tuesday night, or at the very latest Wednesday afore ten o'clock, if it's to be got in right.

"Well, next come the funeral; 'n' I will say right here 'n' now 't the way 's the widows closed in around Deacon White was enough to send any man up a ladder. There was Mrs. Macy 's was actually ready 'n' waitin' to lay Mrs. White out afore she was dead. 'N' Mrs. Macy is n't one 's any one 'd rashly set about makin' love to, I should n't suppose. I 've always understood 's there 's a while 't they sit on laps; 'n' the lap ain't built 's could take pleasure in holdin' Mrs. Macy. But she was on hand, all the same, 'n' 's beamin' 's if she stood a show.

"'N' then there was Gran'ma Mullins! I was perfectly dumb did up at the doin's o' Gran'ma Mullins. I 'd always looked on her 's a very deservin' mother to Hiram, 'n' one 's any one c'd trust 's to doughnuts for sociables; but when she come to Mrs. White's funeral with her hair frizzed, I give up. Gran'ma Mullins—at her age—at the funeral of a widower's dead wife—'n' her hair frizzed! Well, Mrs. Lathrop, if I was on my way to my own hangin' I sh'd still say 't to my order o' thinkin' it wasn't proper mournin'.

"Not 's there was n't others up to the same doin's. The first night Mrs. Allen sent Polly over with one dish o' ice-cream 'n' one slice o' cake for the deacon's supper,—'n' me there 's plain 's day sittin' up alternate with Mr. Jilkins. 'N' Mrs. Allen did n't make no bones about it, neither; she said frank 'n' open 't her disapp'intment over Sam Duruy 'd aged Polly right up to where only a elderly man 'd be anywise fit f'r her, 'n' she said she was teachin' her 'Silver threads among the gold' 'n' how to read aloud 't the tip-top o' your voice. I did n't discourage her none. I told her 't there was n't many like the deacon, 'n' that come true right off; fer we heard a awful crash, 'n' it was then 't he fell through the ceilin' into Phoebe's room 'n' a pretty job we had sweepin' up his dust.

"The minister come in while we was sweepin'. He certainly does come to call always at very uncomfortable times; but I suppose everybody 's got to have a cross, 'n' ours 's him. Anyway, he wanted to know about if it 'd be agreeable to the family to have Mrs. White discoursed on 's a faithful handmaid, 'cause he did n't want to have to alter her after he 'd got her all copied. He said there was the choice o' a bondwoman o' the Lord 'n' a light in Israel, too. We had to go 'n' holler the deacon a long time, 'n' finally we found him out settin' a hen. I did n't think 's he 'd ought to 'a' set a hen the day o' his wife's funeral—I did n't think much o' settin' hens any time; it's set 'n' set, 'n' then half the time all you get is a weasel.

"Well, he come in at last, 'n' he would n't hear o' havin' his wife called a handmaid, 'cause, he said, it was him 's had always done all the work. The minister said it was astonishin' what 'Liza Em'ly could get through in a mornin', 'n' then he coughed; 'n' Mrs. Macy said 't 'Liza Em'ly was very helpful for a child o' her age, 'n' then she coughed; 'n' then the deacon went back to his hen, 'n' the minister sighed 'n' went, too."

Mrs. Lathrop herself sighed as Susan paused.

"I remember—" she said slowly.

"It was a nice funeral, though," her friend continued; "I never see a nicer one, even if Mrs. White was n't able to look after nothin' herself. Mr. Kimball got down to business like it 'd always been his business, 'n' the way he hustled things through was a lesson to them 's takes a whole afternoon to one member of a family. He took all the table-leaves 'n' laid 'em from chair to chair, so 's everybody had a seat; 'n' then, 's folks come in, he had Billy hand 'em each a fan with his advertisement on one side 'n' two rows o' readin' on the other, so 's no one got dull waitin'.

"'N' then I never shall forget what a neat job he done with the dove. You know 's well 's I