kitchen doors when she saw Susan putting on her black mitts in the window about two o'clock,—the hour at which they usually sallied forth in company. 

 "Alone," Susan called back—"well, I should say 't I am goin' alone. 'F you c'u'd see yourself this minute, Mrs. Lathrop; you'd easy understand 't even 'f you wanted to go no one in their senses 'd be able to go with you f'r fear o' bein' took for a lunatic." 

 Mrs. Lathrop glanced dubiously down over herself. 

 "I spilt—" she began apologetically. 

 "I c'n see it from here," said Susan, "'n' 's long 's we're on the subjeck I want to remark right now 't, with the wind settin' the way it 's blowin' to-day, I don't want you to burn nothin' while I'm gone. 'F you'll excuse my bein' so open with you, Mrs. Lathrop, I'll say 't a woman in your circumstances ought not to waste nothin' by burnin' it anyhow, 'n' 'f she does do anythin' so foolish no woman in my circumstances 'd ought to have her house all smelled up." 

 "I ain't goin'—" began the neighbor. 

 "That reminds me 't I am," rejoined she of the black mitts; and so saying, she quitted the window and was presently seen departing down her front walk,—a pleasing object in a bonnet of the jetted era and a shawl of no date whatever. 

 Mrs. Lathrop divided her afternoon between active service over the vinegar kettle and long rests of delicious unconsciousness in the kitchen rocker. Her temperament was not one which wore itself out in vain regrets over what might have been, and then too she knew that Susan was at the meeting and from Susan she would learn all that might there transpire. About half-past five she began to glance out of the window which looked furthest down the street, and some ten minutes later her watching was rewarded by the sight of Miss Clegg and another lady approaching slowly. An animated conversation appeared to be in progress between the two, and at the gate of Mrs. Lathrop's dearest friend they made a long halt while the latter appeared to be laying down some form of law with uncommon vigor and pointing its points off with her knitting, which she waved about in a manner unwontedly reckless. 

 Mrs. Lathrop—having not only spilt more during the afternoon, but also been twice the victim of what is technically known as "boiling over"—felt quite unable to make a third at the gate party, and so was forced to masticate her impatience and hover in the window until 

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