V
THE MINISTER'S VACATION
Mrs. Lathrop had been unable to attend the usual Friday afternoon Sewing Society on account of her pickling. She had completely forgotten what day of the week it was until she had picked all of a dozen cucumbers and it was then too late to stay the tide of events. The pickling had to go forward, and one of the best listeners in the Sewing Society was forced to remain away in consequence.
"I guess you'll have to go a—" she called across the open space between their kitchen doors when she saw Susan putting on her black mitts in the window about two o'clock,—the hour at which they usually sallied forth in company.
"Alone," Susan called back—"well, I should say 't I am goin' alone. 'F you c'u'd see yourself this minute, Mrs. Lathrop; you'd easy understand 't even 'f you wanted to go no one in their senses 'd be able to go with you f'r fear o' bein' took for a lunatic."
Mrs. Lathrop glanced dubiously down over herself.
"I spilt—" she began apologetically.
"I c'n see it from here," said Susan, "'n' 's long 's we're on the subjeck I want to remark right now 't, with the wind settin' the way it 's blowin' to-day, I don't want you to burn nothin' while I'm gone. 'F you'll excuse my bein' so open with you, Mrs. Lathrop, I'll say 't a woman in your circumstances ought not to waste nothin' by burnin' it anyhow, 'n' 'f she does do anythin' so foolish no woman in my circumstances 'd ought to have her house all smelled up."
"I ain't goin'—" began the neighbor.
"That reminds me 't I am," rejoined she of the black mitts; and so saying, she quitted the window and was presently seen departing down her front walk,—a pleasing object in a bonnet of the jetted era and a shawl of no date whatever.