My idea is to let the men have the rights, 'n' then they're satisfied to let you do 's you please. 'S far 's my observa—Lord have mercy on us!" The cause of the abrupt termination of Miss Clegg's speech was a sudden crashing back of the house, followed by a rush and a swish at the side. The friendly visitor made one jump for the window, took one look out, and was off and away. The door slammed before Mrs. Lathrop got her mouth open to ask what was the matter. She called, but no answer came. Then she waited, and waited some more, and finally grew weary in her waiting and fell asleep. She slept long and dreamlessly. It was well after seven when the noise of footsteps awakened her. It was Susan. Having left the tray behind in her mad flight of the night before, she had come over with the teapot in one hand and a plate of toast in the other. But it was not the breakfast which attracted Mrs. Lathrop's attention, it was the expression of her neighbor's face. Tidings of vast importance were deeply imprinted there, and when Miss Clegg set the teapot down and said, "Well, Mrs. Lathrop!" there was that within the tone of her voice which seemed to cause the very air to quiver in anticipation. "Is anything the—" "Matter?" Susan put down the toast and drew herself up to her full height as she spoke. "Yes, Mrs. Lathrop, a good deal is the matter. You ain't seen Jathrop, have you?" "No; where—" "He's gone!" "Gone?" "Gone. Mr. Weskin give him to understand as he'd better go somewhere 'n' he got on a train 'n' did it. If he hadn't, he might 'a' been lynched." "Lynched!" screamed the mother, sitting suddenly up. A direful cracking resounded under the bed-clothes as she did so, but in the excitement of the moment its possible evil portent went unnoticed. "Lynched," repeated Susan; "that's what I said, 'n' bein' 's I was brought up to speak the truth 'n' fear no man, you c'n depend upon its bein' so. But you must eat your breakfast, Mrs. Lathrop,—you mustn't go without eatin' or you'll lose your strength 'n'
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