right to be queer," snapped the dressmaker, who did not relish this criticism of the natives by a perfect stranger. "He is very quiet and respectable and makes a very satisfactory neighbor."
Josie, seated in a straight, wood-bottomed chair, seemed not at all chagrined by her reception. She watched the pressing for a time silently.
"That's a mighty pretty gown," she presently remarked, in a tone of admiration. "I don't suppose I shall ever be able to make anything as nice as that. I—I'm not good at planning, you know," with modest self-deprecation. "I only do plain sewing and mending."
The stern features of Miss Huckins relaxed a bit. She glanced at the girl, then at her work, and said more pleasantly than she had before spoken:
"This dress is for Mary Donovan, who lives two miles north of here. She's to be married next Saturday—if they get the haying over with by that time—and this is part of her trousseau. I've made her two other dresses and trimmed two hats for her—a straw shape and a felt Gainsboro. The Donovans are pretty well-to-do."
Josie nodded with appreciation.
"It's nice she can get such elegant things so near home, isn't it? Why, she couldn't do as well in the city—not
half
as well!"
Miss Huckins held up the gown and gazed at it with unmistakable pride.
"
It's the best Henrietta," said she, "and I'm to get six dollars for the making. I wanted seven, at first, and Mary only wanted to pay five, so we split the difference. With all the other things, I didn't do so badly on this trousseau."
"You're in luck," declared Josie, "and so is Mary Donovan. Doesn't Mr. Cragg do any business except real estate?"
"I think he must," replied the dressmaker, hanging up the gown and then seating herself opposite her visitor. "All the real estate business he's done in the last two years was to rent the Kenton Place to Colonel Hathaway and make a sale of
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