At last it was the day appointed for town meeting, and Elihu was at his task for the last time, making a fair copy for his townsmen's eyes. It was about four in the afternoon, and the smell of hot apple-sauce was in the air. Amarita meant to have supper early, so that she could give her mind untrammeled to getting her husband into his bosomed shirt and starting him on his quest. But as she moved back and forth at her tasks she watched him, and her eyes glittered. Old Mis' Meade noted the excitement of her air and the double tinge of color in her cheeks.
"What's the matter, Rita?" she asked kindly, when Amarita stood for a moment by the table between the front windows, frowning with the care she was giving to sewing a button on a wristband. "Ain't you kinder feverish?"
Amarita started—almost, it might have been, with some inner consciousness not to be given away.
"Oh no," said she. "I ain't feverish, mother Meade. Maybe I'm kinder flurried, Elihu's goin' out and all."
"Goin' to take the womenfolks along with ye, Elihu?" called the old lady, a satirical note beating into her voice.
Elihu looked up absently from his paper.
"Why," said he, with a leniency slightly tinctured by the impatience responsive to a foolish question, "it's jest a town meetin', same as any other. We're goin' to take action on the Old Folks' Home."
"Take action?" repeated old Mis' Meade. "Oh, that's it, is it? Well, Rita 'n' I'll stay to home an' take action on the 'Master Minds o' History.' This is as good a night as any. Mebbe there's a few womenfolks in there—enough for pepper 'n' salt—if they ain't bound for town meetin'."
Elihu drew the long breath which is the due of happily completed toil. He began to roll up his plans. Amarita ran to him and looked over his shoulder.
"You got 'em done?" she asked.