"When do you think you can try mine on?" asked Mrs. Wiley.
"Will next Thursday do?"
"Yes, I don't want to wear it till Thanksgiving; I won't go to Buffalo till Christmas. Lottie Ann won't want hers till then."
"I can do them both by Thanksgiving," said Mrs. Ray. "I've got a few little jobs to do for others, and I want to build a new back fence, and I guess I'm going to get the contract for whitewashing the church cellar, I'm bidding on it. But after that, except for my house-cleaning and my boarders and my regular duties under the United States Government, I haven't got anything particular on hand."
"I'll be so glad," said Mrs. Wiley, moving towards the door. "We're all so kind of upset about not knowing whether Uncle Purchase will come and live with us or not if the dam goes through, that I want to have my things in order, anyhow. He wrote, you know."
"No, I didn't know, but I guess he'll come and live with you, anyway," said Mrs. Ray; "good-by."
Mrs. Wiley went out, and before long there was another caller,—Clay Wright Benton himself this time, usually called "poor Clay Wright Benton" by his friends, for the simple reason that he was Sarah Benton's husband, and his mother's son.
"How d'ye do," he said, opening the door a few inches and looking in through it. "No, I won't come in; I only stopped to speak about the hay. You said I could have it, you know."
"Yes, I know," said Mrs. Ray; "but I said, if you came before October first. That's past now, and Elmer took it off yesterday. Him and his dog was here at sun up and away again by noon. You see now what it is to take your own time."
Clay Wright Benton stood still, turning his cap about and about.