"Well, I'd like to know how I can help it, with my farm and my chickens and my grocery business, not to speak of the boarders and the children and the post-office. When one's a mother and a farmer and a sexton and an employee under bond to the United States Government one has to keep on the jump."
Mrs. Dunstall rearranged the set of her lips slightly. "The mail's very late, ain't it?" she asked.
"Late! I should think it was late. I guess that open switch has settled Forty-four for to-day. But that train's always late. It isn't in the block yet, and the mail-train follows it."
"If it don't come soon, I can't wait," said Mrs. Dunstall; "this is one of my awful days, and speaking of awful days, what do you think of the doings over at the old Whittaker house, Mrs. Ray?"
"I've heard she's wrecking it completely."
"Josiah Bates' been doing some carting there. He says it's enough to make old Grandma Whittaker shiver in her grave. He says they've turned the house just about inside out. That girl must be crazy."
"She is crazy," said Mrs. Ray with decision; "she's in love."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Dunstall, "with him, you mean?"
"Of course. But she's crazy two ways, I think, to go bringing that pretty girl here, and she so thin and white herself. You can't tell me that that man doesn't know a pretty girl when he sees her, even if he ain't seen her yet—which he hasn't, for he didn't see 'em this morning. I know that, for I was watching."
"That's the train now, isn't it?" said Mrs. Dunstall, listening.