They should think Mr. Gartney would dispute the will. It couldn't be a very hard matter, most likely, to set it aside. All that farm, and the Old Homestead, and her money in the bank, going to that Glory McWhirk! Why, it was just ridiculous. The old lady must have been losing her faculties. One thing was certain, anyway. The minister was out of a boarding place again. So that question came up, in all its intricate bearings, once more.
This time Mrs. Gimp struck, while, as she thought, the iron was hot.
Mr. Parley Gimp met Mr. Armstrong, one morning, in the village street, and waylaid him to say that "his good lady thought she could make room for him in their family, if it was so that he should be looking out for a place to stay at."
Mr. Armstrong thanked him; but, for the present, he was to remain at Cross Corners.
"At the Old House?"
"No, sir. At Mr. Gartney's."
The iron was cold, after all.
Mrs. Parley Gimp called, one day, a week or two later, when the minister was out. A visit of sympathetic scrutiny.
"Yes, it was a great loss, certainly. But then, at her age, you know, ma'am! We must all expect these things. It was awfully sudden, to be sure. Must have been a terrible shock. Was her mind quite clear at the last, ma'am?"
"Perfectly. Clear, and calm, and happy, through it all."