won't never let him dip his bread in the platter-gravy 'n' Hiram 's so awful fond of platter-gravy. She says he likes to have the potato-smasher right by his place at the table 'n' pound the meat to make more juice come out, 'n' she says it 's been nothin' but a joy to her always to let him, 'cause his father died when he wa'n't but eleven months old. But she says she just knows Lucy 'll be death on Hiram's potato-smasher, 'n' she says she most feels as if Lucy was goin' to be death on Hiram, too. She says she can't look at Hiram these days without chokin' over thinkin' how Lucy 's goin' to look at him inside o' three months. She says Hiram 's a very tender nature, he can't be hurried awake mornin's, 'n' if he wakes up in the night he has to have gingerbread 'n' whistle till he drops off to sleep again. She says no one as really loved Hiram would mind such little trifles as that, but she says she has her doubts as to Lucy's really lovin' Hiram, 'n' even if she does really love him now, she says it ain't no reason as she 'll keep on lovin' him long. She says time alone 'll tell what the end 'll be, 'n' she only hopes 'n' prays that whatever Lucy does or does n't do, that she 'll never forget as she was well 'n' richly warned beforehand, for she says she went herself in streamin' tears 'n' begged her not to marry Hiram, an' she 's kept straight on till now she 's almost done it."

Susan ceased speaking and took up her parasol.

"Are—" remonstrated Mrs. Lathrop.

"I must," said her neighbor; "I 'm hungry 'n' I want time to beat up some soda-biscuit. It 's no use your askin' me to stay to supper, because my heart is set on soda-biscuit 'n' I like my own better than any one could ever like yours. I don't say that unkindly, Mrs. Lathrop, for I ain't got a unkind thing about me, 'n' I could n't lay anything up against you even if I wanted to. Even when I get all at outs with you over your rockin' I never lay it up against you—we 've been friends too many years. If you can be happy rockin' through life till some fine day you rock over backward into your coffin, all I can say is that it won't be my funeral, 'n' bein' as it will be yours, I shall be too busy that day to fuss over ifs 'n' ands. I 'm keepin' the board 'n' saw-horses as father had for you, 'n' the black bow from his door-bell, too, 'n' after you 're done with them I 'm intendin' to give them to the first needy 'n' deservin' person as comes along in need of 'em."

Susan started down the steps.

"But—" protested Mrs. Lathrop.

"Probably not," said her friend, "but you 

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