"It's no such thing, Olive," cried Gram, looking somewhat heated. "I always paid you up when you cleaned house for me and when you spun for me."
"Always but that one time, Ruth. Then you did not—into a dollar," replied the sallow woman, positively.
An argument ensued. It appeared that the debated dollar was a matter of three or four years standing. There was little doubt that both were equally honest in their convictions concerning it, pro and con. Still, they were a dollar apart, somehow. Furthermore, it came out, that "Olive" when she felt periodically poor, or out of sorts, was in the habit of calling and dunning Gram for that dollar, much to the old lady's displeasure.
The Old Squire sat uneasily and listened to the talk, with growing disfavor. At last he pulled out his pocketbook. "I will pay you the dollar, Olive," he said, "if only to stop the dispute about it."
"You shan't do it, Joseph!" exclaimed Gram. "There's no dollar due her."
But the Old Squire persisted in handing the woman a dollar.
"I do not care whether it is due or not!" he exclaimed. "I have heard altogether too much of this."
"I thank you, Joseph, for doing me justice of my hard-handed employer," said the tall woman, austerely.
"Now did ever anybody hear the like!" Gram exclaimed, pink from vexation. "Oh, Olive, you—you—you bold thing, to say that of me!"
"There, there!" cried the Old Squire. "Peace, women folks. Remember that you are both Christians and public professors."