"The blacksmith was up again last night," she said one sunny morning, when the need of hanging out her wash had brought her and Mrs. Lathrop within conversational distance; "he wants to have his rent a little lowered so as he can bric-à-brac the side of the crick himself. He says there 's stones enough to do it, only he must hire a man to help him. I told him I 'd consider it, 'n' goin' out in the dark he fell over the scraper. I declare I got a damage-suit chill right down my spine 'n' I run out with a candle, 'n', thank heaven, he had n't broke nothin' but the scraper. I 've been wonderin' if it would pay to sue him for that, but I don't believe I will, because folks has been fallin' over it ever since father nailed it to the front o' the step so 's to let his pet weasel go back 'n' forth at the side. The weasel 's been dead for ages, but the scraper 's never been changed. I wish I could remember that weasel. Father loved him 'n' mother hated him,—she said she was always findin' him asleep in her shoes and sleeves. I was speakin' about it to Gran'ma Mullins to-day 'n' she said she remembered comin' to tea at mother's once 'n' their findin' the weasel in the tea-pot. I guess that's the first time Gran'ma Mullins has spoken of any livin' soul but Hiram in six months. She 's feelin' worse than ever over Lucy's decidin' to be married at home on account o' the blue bengaline. She says that's a extra turn o' the ice-cream-freezer handle as she never counted on havin' to submit to. She says she naturally supposed if Hiram got married as she 'd sit in the front pew for once in her life, 'n' see the bride's dress good, 'n' hear the answers plain, 'n' now instid her only child, as she 's loved like a mother ever since he was born, is goin' to be married in a parlor as private as if he was bein' buried from the smallpox! She says, oh dear, oh dear, seems like she never will be able to live down that mirror as she smashed with her head the first time she saw what she looked like. She says she wa'n't more 'n nine months old 'n' yet that mirror has tagged her right through life ever since. She says she missed all her school examinations 'n' did n't get the deacon 'n' did get her husband, 'n' as if that wa'n't enough she must needs lose her husband, 'n' she 's had no choice but to be a widow ever since, 'n' she 's been sprained in all directions 'n' been broke in all directions 'n' her mince-meat 'most always ferments 'n' Hiram 's been her one bright spot 'n' now he 's got to get married in a parlor. She says the worst is as it would draw bread right out of a stone to see how cheerful Hiram is these days,—she says any one would suppose as Lucy Dill was goin' to surely make him happy to see how he goes smilin' around. She says it 's one of the most pathetikest sights as she ever see to watch Hiram markin' off the days on his calendar, 'n' she cried when she told me. She says no one need n't tell her as there 's any one else like Hiram, for she knows him well enough to know as it could n't possibly be true. And then she cried again. I tell you what, Mrs. Lathrop, I may be pretty well churned up over my money troubles, but I can assure you as I feel like a monkey jumpin' through three rings at once beside Gran'ma Mullins. Mrs. Macy says that when Hiram goes to see Lucy you can hear her sobbin' way to the crick,—Mrs. Macy says the first night she thought it was Mr. Jilkins comin' into town with a hot wheel. I would n't be surprised myself to see Gran'ma Mullins drop dead when she hears Lucy get Hiram for better for worse. It 's awful to see a mother suffer so. I don't see how Hiram stands it. If I was him 'n' she had a stroke at my wedding I should call it a stroke o' luck 'n' nothin' else. Not that I don't feel kindly disposed towards Gran'ma Mullins, but I 'm pretty tired hearin' her tale o' woe. Other folks' troubles is generally more interestin' to other folks than they are to me, and besides, if it really comes to talkin' of troubles, nobody ain't got no more to talk about than I have myself. This money question is nippin' me sharper in the calves every day, and when Mrs. Macy told me yesterday as her steps was givin' out I felt like sittin' down on 'em when they done it. Lord knows, I 'd never be one to wave my flag from no post-hole in the thick of no flight, 'n' you know yourself, Mrs. Lathrop, that as a general thing I keep a stiff upper-cut through black and blue, but still if Mrs. Macy's steps really do break down I feel like I shall have no choice but to Jack-and-Jill it after 'em."
"Maybe—" suggested Mrs. Lathrop, hopefully.
"Well, I ain't a-expectin' it anyhow. I 'm expectin' ruin, 'n' I can hear it howlin' and nosin' around my house all night long. Somethin' was swimmin' in the cistern last night, too,—if it made the other side safe I 'm all right, but if it drowned there 'll be another bill. It ain't no use your tryin' to cheer me up, Mrs. Lathrop, because I ain't to be cheered. I know I 'm goin' to the poorhouse, 'n' I don't thank you nor no other man for tellin' me to my face as what I know ain't so. Gran'ma Mullins 'n' me is two very sad hearts these days, 'n' Heaven help us both. To hear her talk you 'd think the Siamese twins was the sun and moon apart compared to her 'n' Hiram, 'n' now she 's got to give him up to Lucy Dill. She says Lucy ain't old enough to appreciate Hiram; she says Lucy 'll expect Hiram to be pleased, 'n' Hiram ain't never pleased; she says when Hiram keeps still 'n' don't say nothin' he's pleased, 'n' when he goes to bed 'n' to sleep right off he 's real pleased. She says Lucy won't understand, 'n' then there 'll be trouble. She says trouble is a awful thing to have, 'n' she knows all about it 'cause she had it with her husband. She says the only good o' havin' trouble with your husband is the comfort you get out o' talkin' about it, 'n' that when she thinks as Lucy 'll get her comfort out o' talkin' about Hiram she pretty nearly gets up and goes right out of her mind."
Susan stopped suddenly; she had been standing with her basket in her hand, in the attitude of one arrested for a moment's inquiry, throughout this conversation.
"Did you—" said Mrs. Lathrop.
"Yes, I did. It was n't no great joy, pinched as I am, but I believe in doin' what you can for people gettin' married—God help 'em—'n' I give 'em each somethin'. I give Lucy a very good pair of scissors as mother had, as always grabs me in the joint so I can't use 'em, 'n' I give Polly our best carvin' knife. They was both sharp things, so they each had to give me a cent to hold on to friendship. I know two cents ain't much, but it 's better 'n nothin', 'n' I may tell you in confidence, Mrs. Lathrop, as all my presents 'll be sharp right along from now on."
Mrs. Lathrop raised her eyebrows to testify to the acute perception which had grasped her friend's point at once.
"Are you—" she asked presently.
"Goin' to the weddin's?—oh, yes. It may make me a little blue to look at Lucy, but it could n't but cheer anybody to compare themselves with Gran'ma Mullins. She says it 's goin' to half murder her, 'n' she 's made Hiram promise as he 'll give her his first husband's kiss. Lucy 's got the idea as she 'll have a weddin' procession o' Mr. Dill 'n' her, an' Hiram 'n' his mother, down the stairs 'n' in through the back parlor. Hiram don't want to, 'cause he 's afraid his mother won't let go of him when the time comes. Hiram says he ain't lived through these last weeks o' half stranglin' without knowin' what he 's talkin' about all right, but Lucy 's dead set on the procession. They 're goin' to try 'n' keep Polly 'n' the deacon a little back 'n' out o' sight, 'cause there 's a many as thinks as half o' Gran'ma Mullins's tears is for the deacon, only she can't say so. Mrs. Allen says every one is talkin' that idea, 'n' Mrs. Sperrit says she hopes to Heaven as it ain't so, for how the deacon is to be kept a little back God only knows, for he 's so happy these days that he 's more than ever everlastin'ly on tap. Mrs. Sperrit 's been very kind; she 's goin' to take Gran'ma Mullins to the Dills', 'n' she says she 'll take her home afterwards. Gran'ma Mullins is goin' to carry ammonia 'n' camphor, 'n' be sure an' have the corks out of 'em both."
"I wish—" said Mrs. Lathrop.