Mrs. Lathrop was of a placid disposition, and not inclined towards even that species of mental activity which a more than usual amount of astonishment demands. Therefore when she saw Susan going out one very rainy day she merely wondered where her energetic neighbor was going, and when, an hour later, she observed the same lady returning, she continued her usual trend of thought by the mildest possible further development of a species of curiosity as to where she had been.

Miss Clegg perceived the interested gaze directed towards her out of the kitchen window and decided to go in next door for a little visit. To that end she passed her own gate, entered Mrs. Lathrop’s, proceeded up the front walk, stacked her dripping umbrella against one of the piazza posts, carefully disposed her rubbers beside the umbrella, and then entered the house.

She found Mrs. Lathrop seated in the kitchen.

“Why,” said that lady, “I thought you was gone on up to see-”

“No,” said the visitor, “I was to see her last week and I sha’n’t go again for one while. Mrs. Brown ‘n’ me has been friends ‘n’ good friends for too many years to break off sudden, but still I never ’xpected ’s she’d be one to try a new receipt on me ‘n’ never give me my choice’s to whether I’d risk it or not until a good fifteen minutes after I’d swallowed the last bite. I can’t feel anythin’ but bitter still when I think of yesterday ‘n’ last night. I was sittin’ there ’s innocent ‘s a mule eatin’ thistles, ‘n’ all of a sudden I felt to say, ‘Mrs. Brown, did you put bakin’ powder or yeast in that cake?’ It was then ’s she told me ’t she’d up ‘n’ made it with suthin’ ’s a peddler throwed in at the door. ‘Where’s the label?’ I says, puttin’ my hand to where I felt the most need o’ knowin’ what in creation to come I had got in me. Well, Mrs. Lathrop, ’f she hadn’t burned up the label; so there was nothin’ f’r me to do but go home ‘n’ come nigh to dyin’ of I did n’t know what. I ’ve got a book, ‘The Handy Family Friend,’ ’s tells what you ’d ought to take after you ‘ve took anythin’, ‘n’ I read it ’way through to see ’f there was any rule f’r when you don’t know what you ’ve took, but there wa’n’t no directions, ‘n’ so I jus’ calmly spent the night hoppin’ about like mad, ‘n’ I ’m free to confess ’t there’ll be a coolness in my feelin’s towards Mrs. Brown henceforth. I ain’t said nothin’ direct to her herself, but I spoke my full mind to Mrs. Macy, ‘n’ Mrs. Macy give me to understand ’s she should let Mrs. Brown know my sufferin’s, ‘n’ I mentioned to Mr. Kimball ‘s I felt some hurt over bein’ pierced to the core with cake ’s nobody knowed what had raised it, ‘n’, although he laughed ‘n’ said mebbe Cain raised it, still I feel he ’s safe to tell every one in town. I want ’s every one sh’d know it. I consider ’t when a woman goes to see another woman she ‘s unsuspectin’ o’ any new species o’ cake-raisin’, ‘n’ ‘f there is any new species in the wind my view o’ the matter is ’s it ’d ought to be tried on somebody else ‘n’ not on me.”

Miss Clegg stopped and shook her head hard.

“Where have you-” began Mrs. Lathrop.

“Oh, that reminds me,” said the caller with a sudden start. She paused a second, as if to gather force for the proper delivery of her next speech; a wondrous glow of unconscious but exalted triumph rose to her visage. “I went,” she announced, her voice high-keyed with confidence as to what was about to fall upon the totally unprepared placidity of the unsuspecting Mrs. Lathrop,-“I went to post a letter to Cousin Marion!”

Mrs. Lathrop’s jaw dropped. A sudden and complete paralysis of all her faculties seemed to be the immediate effect of her friend’s astounding communication.

For a full half-minute there was silence in the kitchen while Susan rocked and enjoyed the sight of the havoc wrought by her speech.

But at last Mrs. Lathrop gathered some fragments out of the wreck of her sensibilities and said feebly,-

“Why, Susan, I never hear as you had one single-”

“Nor me, neither,” said the caller,-and then the sluice-gates opened, and the stream swept through and madly on again,-“nor me, neither, Mrs. Lathrop. I never even dreamed o’ any such goin’s on, ‘n’ I c’n assure you ’s the shock ’s come ’s heavy on me ’s on you. I went up garret this mornin’ ’s innocent ’s a babe whose mother ’s yet unborn, ‘n’ there I found her.”

“In the garret!” cried Mrs. Lathrop.

Miss Clegg drew a long breath.

“In a trunk. ‘N’ jus’ ’s unexpected ‘s the comin’ o’ Judgment Day. Mrs. Lathrop, you c’n believe me or not jus’ ’s you please, but I give you my Gospel word of honor as when I turned down the flap o’ a trunk ‘n’ see that old mousey letter stuck in it cornerways, I no more thought o’ findin’ a cousin than I did o’ findin’ a moth, ‘n’ you know how scarce moths is with me; I ain’t so much ’s seen one ’xcept on your side o’ the house in twenty years, I do believe. ‘N’ I could n’t in conscience say ’s I was pleased when I did see the letter, f’r I thought’s like ’s not it was a bill, ‘n’ anyhow I wa’n’t inclined to be over-pleased at anythin’ this mornin’-I persume you saw how the minister come in on me?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Lathrop, “I see him. What-”

“Wanted to name the baby after me, ‘n’ I call it a pretty time to come namin’ a baby when a woman has got one leg on a ladder ‘n’ her head tied up for bats. I thought he was the tin-peddler from Meadville, ‘n’ I run f’r my rag-bag, ‘n’ then there it was only the minister after all! Well, I was n’t pleased a tall, ‘n’ I did n’t ask him in, neither. I stood fair ‘n’ square in the doorway, ‘n’ ’f he was ‘xpectin’ to see me look happy over havin’ a compliment paid me, ’t was one more time ’s he did n’t get what he ’xpected. That was what he called it,-’payin’ me a compliment,’-’n’ I mus’ say ’s it struck me ‘s pretty high-flown language f’r jus’ simply wantin’ to name a thirteenth baby after the richest woman in the c’mmunity. Seems to me thirteen was a good many to wait afore thinkin’ o’ me anyhow, ‘n’ I ain’t noways sure ’s I want a thirteenth baby named after me anyway. I never was foolish like some folks, ‘n’ you know that ’s well ’s I do, Mrs. Lathrop, but still you know, too, ‘s it’s never nothin’ but safe to keep away fr’m the under side o’ ladders ‘n’ the number thirteen. I ’ve heard Gran’ma Mullins tell a dozen times ’s how ’f she ’d never ‘a’ gone picnickin’ on twice thirteen-that’s twenty-six-o’ July she ’d never ‘a’ met her husband, ‘n’ might o’ married Deacon White. They was both after her, ‘n’ she picked out the wrong one, ‘n’ first he went to the war ‘n’ then he went to the dogs, ‘n’ now there she is in a four-room cottage ‘n’ Deacon White’s wife orderin’ a patent ice-box out o’ a catalogue ‘n’ him never sayin’ a word. She c’d ‘a’ took a world o’ comfort with his daughter, ‘n’ I don’t believe she takes none to speak o’ with Hiram, ‘n’ anyway I was clean put out with the minister afore I even see him, f’r I can’t abide that way he ‘n’ his wife’s both got o’ talkin’ ‘n’ talkin’ ‘n’ never gettin’ aroun’ to sayin’ what they set out to. I like folks ’s is right quick ‘n’ sharp, ‘n’ these roamin’, meanderin’ kind o’ everlastin’ talkers ain’t my idea a tall. ‘N’ I ’m free to confess ’s I did get some tempered to-day standin’ there listenin’ to what did n’t interest me no more ’n a pussy-willow, ‘n’ me wild to be rootin’ up garret all the time.

“O’ course he had to tell me all about the baby, ‘n’ how Felicia Hemans is jus’ come to the silly readin’ age ‘n’ ’s wild to name it Brunhilde. Seems ’s Felicia Hemans is out for Brunhilde ‘n’ the minister’s out f’r me. I never hear o’ no Brunhilde, ‘n’ I up ‘n’ told the minister so to his face. ‘Who is she anyhow?’ I says, flat ‘n’ plain, for Lord knows ’f he’d found a rich relation I wanted my old flannels for cleanin’ cloths hereafter. But he ’xplained ’s Felicia Hemans got Brunhilde out o’ a book-the Nibble suthin’ ’r other. ’Oh, well,’ I says, ‘if you c’n be suited with namin’ your family after rats ‘n’ mice I guess you c’n leave me out,’ I says, ‘n’ I kind o’ backed off so ’s to try ‘n’ set him a-goin’, but he stood still, ‘n’ o’ course no true Christian c’n shut her door in her minister’s face-even ‘f she is stark crazy to get to cleanin’ her garret. ’Why don’t you name her Minnie after yourself?’ I says (Minister, you know), but I c’d see ’t he didn’t take to that a tall. ‘Oh, well,’ I says then, feelin’ ‘t I must get rid o’ him somehow, ’name her after me ’f you want to ‘n’ I’ll give her-’’n’ I was jus’ goin’ to say ’my blessin’,’ ‘n’ such a look come over his face ’n’-well, Mrs. Lathrop, maybe I ‘m too tender-hearted f’r my own good, but I jus’ had the feelin’ ’t I c’d ‘s easy pull the legs off o’ a live fly ’s to disapp’int that face, ‘n’ so I says ‘a dollar’ right off quick before I really thought. ‘N’ what do you think?-what do you think? ’F you ’ll believe me he did n’t look overly pleased, ‘n’ at that I did warm up a little. You don’t ’xpect much of a minister, ‘n’ I think as a general rule ’t we ’re pretty patient with ours, but you do ’xpect gratitude, ‘n’ a dollar’s a dollar, ‘n’ considerin’ the garret into the bargain, I felt my temper comin’ pretty high, ‘n’ I jus’ out with what I ‘d been thinkin’ all along ‘n’ I spoke the truth flat ‘n’ plain right to his face. ‘I d’n’ know,’ I says, ’why I sh’d be ’xpected to give your baby more ’n a dollar. She ain’t my baby, ‘n’ you know ’s well ‘s I do where the blame f’r that lies,’ ‘n’ then I banged the door in his face. Maybe it was n’t jus’ the proper thing to do, but ’f ever a woman had no need for a minister it was me this mornin’.”

Susan paused, and Mrs. Lathrop seized the chance to interpose a question.

“‘N’ about your cousin-”

But Miss Clegg was already started again.

“I do get so aggravated when I think about the minister,” she went on. “I was sayin’ to Mrs. Macy yesterday ’s it does seem ’s ’f I have harder work keepin’ on smilin’ terms with my own minister ‘n’ even a Job might in reason look for. I would n’t be no woman ’f I had n’t shown some feelin’ over the way ‘t he went about town tellin’ right ‘n’ left how nice them stockin’s o’ mine fit him after they shrunk too small f’r me, ‘n’ yet I ain’t a mite o’ doubt but what, a’cordin’ to the Bible, I ’d ought to ‘a’ forgive him ‘n’ turned the other cheek into the bargain. Mrs. Craig says ‘s Mr. Kimball ain’t mincin’ matters none, but is jus’ statin’ all over ‘s it’s all on a’count o’ my havin’ bought the wool o’ Shores; she says ’t he says ’t if I ‘d bought it o’ him I ‘d be wearin’ all four pair this very day. She says ’s Mrs. Fisher says ’s he told her ‘t, seein’ things is ’s they is, he’s lookin’ to see them stockin’s keep right on shrinkin’ down through the minister’s family until they end up ’s socks on the thirteenth baby. A joke’s a joke, ‘n’ I c’n see the p’int o’ a good joke ’s quick ’s any one, but I mus’ say I fail to see any fun in such a remark. ’S far ’s my observation’s ‘xtended, there ain’t nothin’ ladylike in the minister’s wearin’ my stockin’s, nor yet in Mr. Kimball’s entertainin’ the whole c’mmunity with ’em. A’cordin’ to my manner o’ thinkin’, a woman as ‘ll give away four pair o’ brand-new hand-knit stockin’s for no better reason ’n ’t the heels shrunk down under her instep, is doin’ a deed o’ Christian charity instead o’ layin’ herself open to all manner o’ fun-makin’. ‘N’ I ain’t the only one ’s views the thing so serious, either, for Mr. Shores feels jus’ ’s bad ’s I do about it. He come runnin’ to catch me the other day, ‘n’ asked me ’f I had n’t mebbe used cold water for the first washin’. I did n’t feel to thank him none f’r his interest afore he opened his mouth, but I c’n assure you, Mrs. Lathrop, ‘t after he’d spoke I jus’ stood there plum-petrified ‘n’ stock-starin’ f’r ’s much ’s a minute afore I c’d get voice to ask who give him the authority to teach me how to wash my own stockin’s. ‘N’ then, when I did speak, I made no bones ’s to sayin’ jus’ what I thought. I never was one to give my opinion o’ anythin’ or anybody aroun’ free, but I certainly did feel to be open at Mr. Shores. I told him ‘s shrunk stockin’s to my order o’ thinkin’ was a species o’ spilt milk ‘s knowed no turnin’, ‘n’ I further told him ’t I ’d take it ’s a great kindness ’f he ‘n’ the rest o’ the town would shut their mouths right up tight on my stockin’s. I says to him, I says, ‘Mr. Shores, when your wife eloped I was one o’ the few-the very few-’s blamed her, ‘n’ I beg ‘n’ pray ‘t the quality o’ your wool won’t force me to change my mind. Your clerk ‘t she eloped with,’ I says, ‘once give me a nickel three cent piece in place of a dime,’ I says, ‘’n’ up to the first washin’ o’ them stockin’s I never so much ‘s breathed a suspicion of your mebbe dividin’ that seven cents with him. But I ain’t so sure now,’ I says, ‘’n’ I ain’t prepared to say what I ‘ll think from now on,’ ‘n’ then I walked off, leavin’ him good ‘n’ meek, I c’n assure you; ‘n’ the come-out o’ that little game is as my trade, which ranged fr’m ten to fifty cents a week ‘n’ always cash, is lost to him forever hereafter.”

Mrs. Lathrop was fairly choking with impatience.

“‘N’ your cousin-” she interjected quickly, as Susan halted for a slight rest.

“Yes,” said that lady, with a certain chilling air of having up to now suffered from inexcusable neglect on the part of her friend, “I was thinkin’ ’s it was about time ’t you begin to show some interest in what I come over to tell you-’n’ me here for the best part o’ a good half-hour already. Well, ‘n’ my cousin! She come out o’ a letter, Mrs. Lathrop, a old torn letter ’s you or any other ordinary person would probably ‘a’ throwed away without even readin’. But I was never one to do things slipshod, ‘n’ I read every scrap ’s I ’ve got time to piece together, so it was nothin’ but natural ’s I sh’d quit work ’s soon ’s I see Cousin Marion’s letter ‘n’ sit right down to read it. ‘N’ it’s good as I did too, for ’f I ’d been careless ‘n’ burned my rubbish unread, Cousin Marion ’d certainly ‘a’ burnt with the other scraps, ‘n’ as a consequence I’d ‘a’ missed about the happiest minutes ’s I ‘ve knowed since father died. You c’n believe me or not, jus’ ’s you please, Mrs. Lathrop, but I cried over that letter; ‘n’ if some was the dust in my nose, the rest was real affection, for, Lord knows, when you ‘re scratchin’ out mice ‘n’ cobwebs you ain’t lookin’ to find a relation none. But anyhow, there she was, ‘n’ if she ain’t died in the mean time-f’r the letter was wrote over fifty years ago-I may know suthin’ o’ family life yet. It was the beautifullest letter ’t I ever read. You c’d n’t imagine nothin’ more beautiful. I’m afraid ’s mebbe mother ‘n’ me misjudged father, owin’ to the everlastin’ up ‘n’ down stairs, ‘n’ mother used to say right out ’t it was a neck to neck tie ’s to which he stuck closest to, his bed or his money. But he wasn’t always like that, ‘n’ this letter proves it, for Heaven knows what he must ‘a’ give Cousin Marion to ‘a’ ever brought her to write him such words ’s them. Not to deceive you, Mrs. Lathrop, the letter was that grateful that I was more ’n a little bothered over it. It is n’t very likely ‘s you sh’d be able to understan’ my feelin’s to their full, ‘n’ yet you c’n mebbe guess ’s it ain’t altogether a agreeable thing to suddenly find out ’t your own native flesh ‘n’ blood father’s got distant relations callin’ down daily blessin’s on him f’r his overwhelmin’ generosity. That’s what she said in the letter, ‘n’ I can’t deny ‘s the words sent a cold chill runnin’ down my backbone ’s I read ’em.

“The whole letter was writ in the same style, ‘n’ it didn’t take long f’r me to see right straight through it, ‘n’ hatch more ’n a suspicion ’t the reason ‘t I never hear o’ Cousin Marion afore was ’cause she was head over heels in love with father. It was real touchin’ too to think how near her letter came to bein’ one o’ mother’s, ‘n’ in the end I jus’ sneezed till I cried, for, to my shame be it said, Mrs. Lathrop, ’t the dust was ’s thick in my garret this day ’s it is in your parlor the year aroun’.”

Susan paused to shake her head and use her pocket-handkerchief over her souvenirs in general. Mrs. Lathrop sat dumb and attentive.

“Marion Prim was her name,” the narrator continued presently, “‘n’ she writ it from Knoxville fifty-one years ago come last October. Did you ever hear of her?”

Mrs. Lathrop screwed her face up thoughtfully, but was forced to screw it into a negation after all.

“Seems funny ‘t father never spoke o’ her after mother was so far past bein’ jealous ’s to be buried. He c’d ‘a’ said anythin’ about anybody them years, ‘n’ ’f I had time to listen I’d ‘a’ been bound to hear, but to my certain knowledge he never said one word o’ family ’xcept to remark over ‘n’ over ’s he thanked the Lord Almighty ’s he had n’t got none, which words I naturally took ‘s signifyin’ ‘s he was speakin’ the truth. Still a man is a man, ‘n’ this letter proves ’s you can’t even be sure o’ one ’s has been in bed under your own eye f’r twenty years, f’r it not only shows ’s he did have a relation, but it shows suthin’ else too; it shows me, ‘s has had four men all tryin’ to marry me inside o’ the same week, ‘t suthin’ pretty close to love-makin’ ’d passed between her ’s wrote this letter ‘n’ him ’s kept it carefully hid away till long after he was dead. There’s a shakiness about the writin’ ‘n’ a down-hilledness about the lines ’s lets me right into the secret o’ their hearts, ‘n’ I’m willin’ to venture a guess ’t Cousin Marion c’d get money out o’ father with less pain ’n mother could, under which circumstances I don’t blame mother for closin’ down on the subjeck.

“The more I consider that letter up ‘n’ down ‘n’ hind end to, Mrs. Lathrop, the plainer I see ’s Cousin Marion must ‘a’ been a sore ‘n’ abidin’ thorn inside o’ father ‘n’ mother. Perhaps it was that as give him the paralysis! The doctor said ‘s it was suthin’ obscure, ‘n’ ’f suthin’ ’s ain’t found out till years after you ’re dead ain’t obscure I don’t know what is. Anyway I ’ve took my stand ‘n’ it was the only sensible one to take. This ’s the first chance I ’ve ever had in all my life to get a nice change without payin’ board, ‘n’ so I jus’ sat right down ‘n’ wrote to Cousin Marion ’t ’f it was convenient to her I ’d come to Knoxville ‘n’ spend next Sunday. She ’s bound to be pleased ‘t bein’ remembered after fifty years, ‘n’ I ’ve got father’s nose, ‘n’ that ‘ll help some, o’ course. She can’t be worse ’n dead, ‘n’ ’f she’s dead ‘n’ don’t answer I sha’n’t never give the subjeck another thought, f’r I naturally ain’t got very fond o’ her jus’ from findin’ her musty old letter stuck in behind the flap of a trunk ’s I ’ve been achin’ to hack to pieces these last twenty years. I never went up in my garret without I skinned myself somewhere on that trunk, ‘n’ you know how often I go up garret, Mrs. Lathrop, so it goes without sayin’ ’s I ’ve been considerably skinned first ‘n’ last. But ’f she sh’d be alive ‘n’ I sh’d get to go there, the Lord knows I certainly shall rejoice to have some o’ my own to talk to, f’r blood is thicker ’n water, ‘n’ although I don’t want to hurt your feelin’s, Mrs. Lathrop, still you can’t in conscience deny ’s you ain’t no conversationalist. Nobody is that I know hereabouts, neither. The minister talks some, but I ‘m always thinkin’ how much more I want to tell him things ’n I ever want to hear what he has to say, so I can’t in truth feel ’s his talkin’ gives me much pleasure. Mrs. Macy ‘s great on gaspin’, but she don’t as a general thing get very far, ‘n’ so the long ‘n’ short o’ the whole thing is ’t if Cousin Marion ain’t a change f’r the better she can’t noways be a change f’r the worst, ‘n’ so I ’ve made up my mind to sail right in ‘n’ risk her.

“I ’ve thought ’s it ’ll be a nice idea to take her father’s cane for a present; it ’ll surely come very handy to her,-’f she ’s alive a tall,-’n’ since Mr. Kimball over-persuaded me into buyin’ one o’ them patent carpet-beaters, it ain’t no manner o’ service to me. Not ’s I ain’t sure ’t I don’t really prefer the cane to the patent, but I ’ve paid for the new thing ‘n’ I ain’t goin’ to go to work to make myself feel ’s I ’ve wasted my money. The carpet-beater ain ’t up to Mr. Kimball’s talk by long odds, ‘n’ so far from turnin’ into a egg-beater in the wink of your eye like he promised, you ’ve got to grip it fast between your knees ‘n’ get your back ag’in a flour-bin to turn it into anythin’ a tall. ‘N’ then when it does turn, so far from bein’ a joy it lets up so quick ’t you find yourself most anywhere. Mrs. Craig was gettin’ her brace ag’in the hen-house, ‘n’ when it let up she sat down so sudden ’t she smashed the henhouse ‘n’ a whole settin’ o’ duck-eggs not to speak of the hen between. Mrs. Macy says ‘t seein’ ’s she has more eggs ‘n carpets, she jus’ beats her carpets with the egg end ‘n’ don’t fuss to change ever. Mrs. Fisher says what puts her out is ’t the ring ’s you slide up to close the whisks for killin’ flies won’t stay up, ’n the flies don’t get killed but jus’ get hit so they buzz without stoppin’ from then on. Mrs. Jilkins says right out ’s she considers the whole thing a swindle, ‘n’ ‘f Mr. Kimball was n’t rentin’ his store o’ her brother she sh’d tell him so to his face. She says the three-inch measure on the handle ‘s too short to be o’ any real service on a farm, ‘n’ her opinion is ’t Mr. Kimball keeps his sample dipped in kerosene or he never could snap it in ‘n’ out so quick. Anyhow it all comes in the end to the fact ‘t, havin’ bought it, I ’ll work it ’f I die f’r it, ‘n’ so Cousin Marion c’n have the cane, ‘n’ may she be everlastin’ly happy usin’ it. I did n’t get my trunk down ’cause I ’ll have Friday to pack anyhow, ‘n’ any one c’n slide a trunk down a ladder any time, but nobody can’t never slide nothin’ up nowhere. Besides, I sh’d look like a fool puttin’ back a trunk ’t I ’d hauled out to visit a cousin who like enough died afore I was born, ‘n’ I ain’t no fool,-never was ‘n’ never will be.”

There was a short stop for a fresh supply of breath.

“I wonder ’f-” began Mrs. Lathrop.

“The difficulty o’ all things in this world,” Miss Clegg went on promptly, “is ’t if you have any brains a tall you ’re bound to have so much work for ’em. Now, this findin’ o’ Cousin Marion no doubt looks simple enough to you ‘n’ the world in general, ‘n’ yet the more I turn her up ‘n’ down ‘n’ inside out the more new lights I get. When you come to consider ‘t I only found the letter this mornin’, ‘n’ that it ain’t supper-time yet, you c’n easy see ’s my day’s been more ’n full o’ brain-work. Comin’ up the street this afternoon, the question o’ the possibility o’ Cousin Marion’s bein’ poor come into my mind. I c’n speak out freely to you, Mrs. Lathrop, ‘n’ so I will remark ’t I c’n guarantee ‘s father never give her nothin’ o’ late years, ‘n’ ’f she’s poor it don’t take no eagle eye to know jus’ what’ll happen when she gets my letter. ’F the letter hadn’t been posted ‘n’ the sack gone to the train afore I thought o’ this view o’ the matter, I’m free to confess ’s I never would ‘a’ posted it a tall. For there’s no use denyin’, Mrs. Lathrop, ’t, ’f my visit to Cousin Marion sh’d lead to her askin’ to borrow ’s much ’s a quarter, I sh’ll bitterly regret ever havin’ clawed her out from back o’ that trunk-flap. There ain’t no possible good ‘s c’n ever come o’ lendin’ money to them’s ain’t able to pay it back, ‘n’ I learned that lesson to my bitter cost once ‘n’ for all time when I had that little business with Sam Duruy. That took all the likin’ to lend out o’ me, ‘n’ Heaven help me ’f I ever forget it. I thought I was so safe, Mrs. Lathrop,-I looked in all four o’ his hoofs, ‘n’ swished my handkerchief in each o’ his eyes, ‘n’ he was certainly lively, so I planked down my little five dollars ‘n’ Sam was to keep on drivin’ the horse. Well, you know ’s well ’s I do what happened, ‘n’ the skin brought seventy-five cents. Sam sued the railroad, ‘n’ the railroad asked why he did n’t read the ’Look out for the Locomotive.’ I told him to go into court ‘n’ swear ’s he could n’t read, but he said Judge Fitch used to be his school-teacher ‘n’ knowed ’s he could. ‘N’ then I offered to go to court myself ‘n’ swear on the Bible ’s the whole town looked on him ’s more ’n half a idiot, ‘n’ Mr. Duruy jus’ sat right flat down on the whole thing. So they did n’t even pay his lawyer, ‘n’ it goes without sayin’ ‘t o’ course he could n’t pay me; ‘n’ then, do you know, Mrs. Lathrop, ’f he did n’t have the impudence this very afternoon to stop me down in the square ‘n’ ask me ’f I would n’t lend him ten cents on a rooster! I was pretty nigh to put out over that, I c’n assure you. I mus’ ‘a’ stared at him f’r ’s much ’s ten seconds afore I sensed ’t he was really fool enough to think ’t mebbe I was fool enough too. ‘N’ then I let out at him. ‘Not while I have the breath o’ life in my body,’ I says,-’n’ it shook ’s I said it,-’not ’f I know my own mind. What’s to guarantee me,’ I says, ’’s your rooster won’t take it into his head to go a-promenadin’ on the railway track?’ I says. He begin to tell ’s how, even dead, the rooster was worth more ’n ten cents. ‘I d’n’ know about that,’ I says, ’it don’t strike me ’s noways likely ’t when he suddenly observes the engine ‘most on top o’ him, he’s goin’ to take the time ‘n’ trouble to lay his head square ‘n’ even across the rail, ‘n’ you know ’s well ’s I do ’t no rooster killed cornerways ain’t never goin’ to bring no nickel apiece for his corners. No, Mister Sam Duruy,’ I says, ‘your lively horse’s taught me a lesson,’ I says, ‘’n’ hereafter I don’t lend no money on so much ’s a egg without I see a good curb-bit bought ‘n’ put in its mouth first,’ I says; ‘n’ then I walked off, ‘n’ the end o’ it all is ’t if Cousin Marion’s poor I certainly ain’t very wild to have her find out ’s I’m rich.

“But then, I ain’t very anxious to have her rich either, I must say, for it don’t take no blind man to figger out ’t if she ’s rich the money ’d ought to ‘a’ been mine. ‘N’ that ‘s a awful feelin’, Mrs. Lathrop,-the feelin’ ’s other folks ’s rich on money ’s ’d ought to ‘a’ been yours. I ain’t sure ’s I want to know Cousin Marion ’f such ‘s the facts o’ her case, ‘n’ ‘s between her bein’ poor ‘n’ wantin’ money o’ me, ‘n’ her bein’ rich on money right out o’ my pocket, I feel like I mebbe clum that ladder this mornin’ in a evil hour f’r my future peace o’ mind.

“‘N’ then, too, ’f she ’s rich I certainly can’t go to see her without I buy me a new bonnet. ’F she ‘s rich, o’ course I want her to see right off ’s I ’m rich too, ‘n’ bein’ ’s we ’re old friends ‘n’ alone here together, I c’n truthfully state ’s she could n’t in reason mistrust no such thing from my bonnet. It ’s a good bonnet, ‘n’ it’s been a good bonnet year in ‘n’ year out ‘n’ in rain ‘n’ shine turn an’ turn about, but I never was give to deceivin’ myself no more nor a outsider, ‘n’ so I will frankly say ’t it ’s long past its first shininess. Miss White ’s freshened it up two times for me, ‘n’ I always have new ribbons to tie it every other Easter, but still, in the box or out o’ the box, its day is past for lookin’ brand-new, ‘n’ I don’t deny the truth ’s a more foolish woman might feel some inclined to do. So, such bein’ the case, Cousin Marion ‘n’ a new bonnet comes to one ‘n’ the same thing, ‘n’ I can’t say ’s bonnet-buyin’ ‘s a way o’ spendin’ money ’s is over-agreeable to me. However, ’f it is to be it is to be, ‘n’ I sha’n’t cry over nothin’. I ’ll buy the bonnet, ‘n’ I guess ’f she talks to me about her money I c’n come out right quick ‘n’ sharp ‘n’ talk about mine. ‘N’ I guess I c’n talk her down-I ’ll try good ‘n’ hard, I know that. ‘N’ ’f she sh’d put me beyond all patience, I ‘ll jus’ make no bones about it, but get right up ‘n’ smash her flat with her own letter o’ fifty years ago. I don’t believe nobody c’d put on airs in the face o’ their own name signed to bein’ saved from want by the kind, graspin’ hand o’ my dead ‘n’ gone father.”

Susan ceased speaking, and rose suddenly to her feet.

“I must go,” she said; “it’s time I was seein’ about supper, ‘n’ it’s been a hard day first ‘n’ last. It’s been ‘xcitin’, ‘n’ I cleaned the garret too, ‘n’ then my mind ’s all upset ’s to travelling ‘n’ I’ve got to consider a lot afore I c’n decide ‘s to anythin’. ‘N’ I only feel plum sure o’ one thing, ‘n’ that is ’s I don’t want to buy no new bonnet. Bonnets is a awful waste o’ money, ‘n’ I’ve got nothin’ inside o’ me ‘s cries out to extravagance. But speakin’ o’ waste reminds me over again ’s I don’t want to throw no more time away on you, so, ’s I’m always frank ‘n’ open, I’ll jus’ say so ‘n’ go now.”

The letter which Susan Clegg had mailed to her cousin “Marion Prim, Knoxville,” did actually reach the hands of the person for whom it was intended, and the evening of the second day after brought an answer which the two friends studied together in a mutual intellectual darkness.

“Says she’s lived for fifty years on the motto, ’S’fficient unto the day ‘s the evil thereof,’ ‘n’ now my letter’s come,”-it was thus that Susan voiced her understanding of the matter,-“says I c’n come ’f I want to, ‘n’ mebbe it’ll be some consolation! I don’t call that by no means cordial, but I ’m bound to consider ’t ’f Cousin Marion ’s any kin to father she could n’t naturally be very open-hearted, ‘n’ I must overlook her with a good grace ‘n’ a clear conscience. I ’ll go because I ’ve made up my mind to go, but I won’t take no trunk nor yet buy no new bonnet.”

Mrs. Lathrop offering no counter advice, Miss Clegg returned to the shelter of her own roof, and to judge by the banging and squeaking that ensued, burglars were barred out from even daring to dream of a possible raid during the absence which was to be upon the following day. About nine o’clock peace fell over all and lasted until the dawn of the eventful Saturday.

When Susan was all ready to start for the station, she called her friend to the fence and shook hands with her so warmly that the tears overflowed the awe in the other’s eyes.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Lathrop,” she said with a solemnity that had nothing to relieve its sombreness and much to deepen the impressiveness of the moment. “Good-bye! I ‘m goin’ now, ‘n’ I sh’ll be back this evenin’, ‘n’ so help me God while I’m gone, for I have a goose-flesh kind o’ a sensation ‘t I’m goin’ to get a surprise.”

Mrs. Lathrop clung to her in a heart-wrung silence. Both the friends were deeply affected, feeling that this journey was a something quite apart from Susan’s ordinary every-day little expeditions to the city. Finally Miss Clegg withdrew her hand, straightened out the resultant wrinkles in her mitt, and stalked away. Mrs. Lathrop sighed sadly, returned to her own rocker, and entered upon the course of a long day of patient waiting.

It was about three in the afternoon that, to her great surprise, she saw Miss Clegg returning. There was something altogether new and strange in the gait of the latter while she was at a distance, and as she drew nearer Mrs. Lathrop’s eyes and mouth opened together. The nearer that Susan drew the more provocative of astonishment was her general appearance. To sum up the whole state of the case in as few words as possible, I will say that she seemed to have barely survived some hitherto totally unknown species of catastrophe. Mrs. Lathrop, much overcome, ran to the door and cried,-

“Come over! I’ve got the kettle-”

“I was comin’ anyhow,” Susan called feebly back, and wearily dragging herself through the gate, along the walk, and up the steps, sank down finally in one of the kitchen chairs.

Mrs. Lathrop hastened to fortify her with hot tea and gingerbread. She ate and drank in silence for some time, only volunteering, as she took the third cup,-

“I ain’t had nothin’ since I left home.”

“Didn’t you find your-” Mrs. Lathrop began eagerly.

“Cousin?” said the traveller, in a tone that suggested revelations as yet unrevealed,-“oh, yes, Mrs. Lathrop, I found my cousin.”

Mrs. Lathrop felt herself to be silenced, and spoke no more. Miss Clegg drank all the tea and ate all the gingerbread. Then, when there was nothing else left to do, she declared herself satisfied, and fixing her gaze mercilessly upon the quaking listener, discharged her first shot.

“I wish I’d never gone!”

This statement was made with a vigor that supported its truth in full. Mrs. Lathrop quivered slightly, and waited breathlessly to hear more.

“I wish I’d never gone, ‘n’ for the future, Mrs. Lathrop, I’ll thank you to never so much ’s breathe a relation anywhere near me, for I’ve had enough family to-day to last me from here to Gabriel ‘n’ his trumpet, ‘n’ ’f I ever forget this hour may I die in that one.”

Mrs. Lathrop gasped.

Susan coughed and gripped her hands tightly together.

“Mrs. Lathrop, the Bible says ’s we may never know what a day ’ll bring forth, ‘n’ ’f I’d ‘a’ known that this day was gettin’ ready to hatch such a Cousin Marion ’s I found, I certainly would ‘a’ spent it some other way. When I think o’ the cheerful lovin’ spirit ’s I pinned my wave on in, ‘n’ then reflect on what I pinned it on to, I can’t but feel ’t if I ain’t a fool I ’d ought to be one, ‘n’ I can’t say nothin’ stronger for the way I feel. They say ’s the Devil ’s the father o’ lies, but it’s a slander. The Devil is a floatin’ angel by the side o’ that letter ’s I found. It was a lie, Mrs. Lathrop, a lie from first to last, ‘n’ it makes my blood run cold to think o’ all the years that I lived right underneath it ‘n’ never ’s much ‘s dreamed o’ the iniquity up in that old trunk over my head.”

Mrs. Lathrop gasped again.

“Mrs. Lathrop, I never had it in me to conceal nothin’ from you. We’ve been good friends ‘n’ true through thick ‘n’ thin, through my father ‘n’ your son ‘n’ every other species o’ Heaven-sent infliction, f’r years ‘n’ years ‘n’ years. ‘N’ now I ain’t goin’ to shut you out o’ the inside truth o’ this awful day. You see me set off this mornin’ bright ‘n’ beamin’, ‘n’ you see me come home this night burnin’ ‘n’ bitter, ‘n’ it’s nothin’ but right’s you sh’d be fully took in to the betwixt ‘n’ between. It’ll mebbe be a lesson to you some day if anythin’ sh’d come up ’s led you to look to be extra happy all of a sudden, ‘n’ you’ll remember this hour ‘n’ jus’ firmly go back into the house ‘n’ shut the door ‘n’ say, ’Life’s a delusion ‘n’ a snare, like Susan Clegg’s Cousin Marion.’ It’s better for you to learn the lesson ’s all is vanity now, than to wait ‘n’ have it fall on your head like a unexpected pickle-jar, the way ’s this day ’s fell on mine.”

Mrs. Lathrop’s eyes grew big.

“Mrs. Lathrop, in the first place I started out all wrong. Knoxville ain’t on this line a tall. It’s on the A. ‘n’ B., ‘n’ only the junction is on this line. Mrs. Lathrop, don’t you never trust yourself to no junction in this world o’ sin ‘n’ sorrow, whatever else you may in your folly see fit to commit. My experience c’n jus’ ’s well be a warnin’ to you too, f’r I was put off three miles from where there ain’t no omnibus, ‘n’ I had to leg it over a road ’s is laid out three hills to the mile. I ain’t one ’s is give to idle words, but I will remark ‘t by the time I’d clum the fourth hill I hadn’t no kind o’ family feelin’s left alive within me, ‘n’ when I did finally get to Knoxville I was so nigh to puffed out ’t I c’d hardly find breath to ask where Cousin Marion did live. It was a boy skippin’ rope ’s I asked, ‘n’ he never quit skippin’ for one second out o’ politeness. Seems he was doin’ a thousand steady on a bet, ‘n’ I’m free to confess ‘s I felt pretty foolish askin’ questions ‘n’ his rope like to catch on my nose every other word. I finally made out, though, ’s Cousin Marion lived out the other end o’ town, ‘n’ so I walked on till I come to the road. Mrs. Lathrop, it was another road o’ hills, ‘n’ I must say ’s the sight made my blood run cold for the third time in one day. F’r a minute I thought seriously o’ jus’ takin’ a train away ag’in ‘n’ lettin’ Cousin Marion fiddle alone f’r another fifty years, f’r I give you my word o’ honor, Mrs. Lathrop, ’s I was ’most dead, ‘n’ Lord only knows what made me keep on, f’r what came after was enough to shake my faith in the Lord forever ’f I really believed ’s any one but Cousin Marion had one word to say in the matter. But I was raised to finish up all things ’s is begun, ‘n’ I snapped my teeth tight together ‘n’ set out over them extra hills with all the resignation ’s I c’d scrape up f’r the need o’ the moment. I was hot inside ‘n’ hot outside, but I’d made up my mind to see the thing through ‘n’ so I pegged right along.

“Well, Mrs. Lathrop, ’f I was on the witness stand with Bibles above ‘n’ below, I c’d n’t but swear ’s it was two miles ’f it was a cent. ‘N’ even then they was a long two miles. I was on my very last legs when I got there, ‘n’ nothin’ ’t I see revived me none. Mrs. Lathrop, the awfullest old tumble-down house ’s ever you see-pigs in the yard, ‘n’ ‘Prim’ on the gate-post! ‘N’ me standin’ pantin’ for breath, ‘n’ related to ’em all!”

Mrs. Lathrop’s eyes grew bigger and bigger.

“There was a old man a-sittin’ on a chair on the porch in one boot ‘n’ one slipper ‘n’ a cane. He looked ’t me ’s if it ‘d be nothin’ but a joy to him to eat me up alive ‘n’ jus’ relish to gnaw the bones afterwards. You c’n maybe realize, Mrs. Lathrop, ’s I wasn’t no ways happy ’s I walked a little piece up towards him ‘n’ said ’s I ’d like to see my cousin, Marion Prim. He give such a nod ’s seemed ’s if his head ’d fly off, ‘n’ I took it ’s she was somewhere near ‘n’ a-comin’. So, ‘s I was all used up, I jus’ started to sink right down on the steps to wait for her.

“Oh, my soul ‘n’ body, that minute!-The awful shock!-Oh, Mrs. Lathrop! you never in all your life dreamed such a yell ’s he give! I like to ‘a’ went deaf! I jumped worse ’n ’f I ’d been shot stone-dead. Wild whoopin’ Indians was sleepin’ babes beside him. ’Not on my steps!’ he shrieked, poundin’ with his cane ‘n’ shakin’ with his fist,-’not on my steps,’ he howled louder ’n all below,-’not while I ’m alive!-not while I c’n prevent!-not while I c’n help it!-no Clegg sits afore me, not now ‘n’ not never!’ You c’n imagine, Mrs. Lathrop, ’s I didn’t get very far to sat down under them circumstances. I trembled all over, ‘n’ I backed off quite a little ways ‘n’ looked at him. He kept chokin’ ‘n’ gaspin’ ‘n’ purple ‘n’ swallowin’, ‘n’ after a while I got up courage to ask him where Cousin Marion was. ‘N’ then-oh, Mrs. Lathrop!-’n’ then-well, honest, I thought’s he was goin’ to bust!-’n’ then, ‘I’m Cousin Marion!’ he yelled right in my face,-’I’m Cousin Marion, Susan Clegg!’ ‘n’ at that, Mrs. Lathrop, I went so faint in my knees ‘n’ so rumbly in my ears ’t you c’d ‘a’ clubbed me with a straw ‘n’ gagged me with a wisp o’ hay that minute. I jus’ stood starin’, ‘n’ you c’n believe me or not just’s you please, but I never was so nigh to fallen over backwards in all my life before. I c’d feel cold drops like water on a duck’s back, ‘n’ my senses was that mixed ’t ’f you’d told me ’s my heels was in my hair I wouldn’t ‘a’ doubted you. I d’n’ know ’s I ever was scared in all my life afore, but when he screamed them awful words, my very insides got clammy. I c’d n’t say a livin’ word, I c’d n’t make a livin’ move; I c’d only stand ‘n’ shake ‘n’ listen, ‘n’ him keepin’ on yellin’ ‘n’ poundin’ like mad.

“‘Susan Clegg,’ he screamed, ‘Susan Clegg,’-’n’ he kep’ poundin’ harder ‘n’ harder ‘n’ gettin’ redder ‘n’ redder every minute,-’Susan Clegg, I’m glad you’ve come; I’ve wanted you to come; I’ve wanted you to come f’r a long time. I did n’t know who it’d be, but I ’ve been wantin’ somebody to come ‘n’ been waitin’ f’r ’em to come f’r fifty years ‘n’ more too. I’ve been holdin in f’r fifty years! I’ve been thinkin’ what I wanted to say f’r fifty years! Now I c’n say it! Now I c’n be happy sayin’ it! I wish it was your father’s ears a-shiverin’ there afore me, but yours ‘ll do.’

“My heavens alive, Mrs. Lathrop, you’d ought to ‘a’ seen him! He went from red to purple ‘n’ from purple to mos’ black, ‘n’ his eyes stood right out, ‘n’ he shook his cane right in my face ‘n’ screamed loud enough to set the dead jumpin’.

“’Susan Clegg, your father was a shark! Susan Clegg, your father was a skinflint! Susan Clegg, your father was a miser! Susan Clegg, your father was a thief!’ ‘n’ all this with me where I c’dn’t but hear, Mrs. Lathrop, ‘n’ he must ‘a’ known it too. ’Susan Clegg, I was a young man in difficulties,’ he says, ‘’n’ I wanted a hunderd dollars bad,’ he says, ‘’n’ ’f I’d had it I c’d ‘a’ bought into a nice business ‘n’ married a nice girl with a nice property ‘n’ made this place blossom like a wilderness ‘n’ seen the fig-trees o’ my fig-trees sittin’ in my shade. ‘N’ I went to your father, ‘n’ I told him all the inmost recesses o’ my heart o’ hearts,’ he says, ‘’n’ ’xplained to him how ‘n’ why ‘n’ wherefore the business c’dn’t but pay, ‘n’ then took him to see the girl ‘n’ p’inted out all her good p’ints, ‘n’ then asked him to lend me the hunderd dollars, ‘n’ hired a livery horse ‘n’ drove him home to think about it. ‘N’ what followed after, Susan Clegg,’-oh, Mrs. Lathrop, I never see the like o’ the way he suddenly swelled ‘n’ blued right then!-’’n’ what come next? I waited the wait o’ the innocent ‘n’ trustin’ for one long ‘n’ unremittin’ week, ‘n’ then, when I was nigh to mad with sittin’ on red-hot needles by day ‘n’ by night without let or hindrance, what did he answer?-what did he answer to him ‘s laid in the hollow o’ his hand, confidin’ fully ‘n’ freely in his seein’ what a good investment it ’d be? What did he answer, Susan Clegg? He answered ’s he c’d n’t do it, ‘n’ ’s it was n’t no possible use whatever to ask him again! Susan Clegg, I smashed a winder,’ he says, ’right then ‘n’ there,’ he says, ‘’n’ I writ a letter ‘n’ it must ‘a’ been that letter ’s you found, f’r I never writ him no other afore or after. ‘N’ then I went West to make my fortune ‘n’ I did n’t make no fortune, but I got my hands on a hunderd dollars ‘n’ I come home lickety-split to buy that business ‘n’ marry that girl. I went first to see about the business ’s it was right ‘n’ natural ’t I sh’d, ‘n’ what did I find, Susan Clegg, what did I find?’ Mrs. Lathrop, I never see the like in all my days, born or unborn. I thought he’d yell my head off. ’I found your father’d bought the business, my business, ‘n’ I was left out in the freezin’, icy cold! Susan Clegg, I smashed a table,’ he says, ‘’n’ two chairs,’ he says, ‘’n’ I went to see the girl ‘n’ ask her to wait a little longer,-’n’, Fire ‘n’ Brimstone ‘n’ Saltpetre, ’f your father hadn’t gone ‘n’ married the girl,-my girl!

“‘’N’ there was all below to pay,’ he says, ‘’n’ I vowed bloody murder,’ he says, ‘’n’ they had me up ‘n’ bound me over to keep the peace, ‘n’ then they moved away. ‘N’ I sat down to wait f’r my vengeance,’ he says, ‘’n’ I’ve waited fifty years,’ he says. ’I’ve spent fifty years grindin’ my teeth ‘n’ whettin’ the edge o’ my fury, ‘n’ now-’

“Mrs. Lathrop, I didn’t wait to hear no more. I didn’t feel like I had strength to. I run. ‘N’, heavens, how I run! I lit out like I was paid for it, ‘n’ I bet I clum every last one o’ them hills ’s fast on the up ‘s the down. When I got to the station there was a train jus’ pullin’ out f’r I didn’t know where, ‘n’ I hopped aboard like I was shot. It took me to Meadville, ‘n’ I had to pay the ’xtra fare ‘n’ wait two hours to get another back here, ‘n’ I ain’t really half through shakin’ yet.”

Susan stopped, took out her handkerchief and carefully passed it over her brow as one who strives to brush away tormenting visions.

Mrs. Lathrop sat mute and motionless, completely overwhelmed by the recital of her friend’s tragic story.

After a few minutes Miss Clegg put her handkerchief back in her pocket and turned a sad and solemn, yet tender look upon her companion.

“Lord knows I’m done with relations from this day on,” she said slowly but with great distinctness. “I feel like hereafter I’ll be content with jus’ you, Mrs. Lathrop, ‘n’ I can’t say nothin’ stronger f’r what I’ve jus’ lived through.”

Mrs. Lathrop’s eyes filled with gratitude at this compliment.

But she said nothing.