“Well, this is a great day for Sabbath Valley,” said Mrs. Frost mournfully, spreading an ample slice of bread deep with butter, and balancing it on the uplifted fingers of one hand while she stirred the remainder of the cream into her coffee with one of the best silver spoons. She was wide and bulgy and her chair always seemed inadequate when she settled thus for nourishment.
“A great day,” she repeated sadly, taking an audible sip of her coffee.
“A great day?” repeated little Mrs. Gibson with a puzzled air, quickly recalling her abstracted thoughts.
“Yes. Nobody ever thought anybody in Sabbath Valley would ever be tried for murder!”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Gibson sharply, drawing back her chair as if she were in a hurry and rolling up her napkin quickly.
“Yes, poor Mark Carter! I remember his sweet little face and his long yellow curls and his baby smile as if it were yesterday!” narrowing her eyes and harrowing her voice, “I wonder if his poor mother knows yet.”
“I should hope not!” said Mrs. Gibson rising precipitately and wandering over to the window where hung a gilded canary cage. “Mrs. Frost, did you remember to give the canary some seed and fresh water?”
“Yes, I b'lieve so,” responded the fat lady, “But you can't keep her from knowing it always. Whatt'll you do when he's hung? Don't you think it would be easier for; her to get used to it little by little?”
“Mrs. Frost, if you were a dog would you rather have your tail cut off all at once, or little by little?” said Mrs. Gibson mischievously.
“I shouldn't like to have it cut off at all I'm quite sure,” said Mrs. Frost frostily.