“One man at the post-office spoke of these”—she touched a slender Bedford-corded thigh—“of these as choke-bore pants. He said there ought to be a law against a woman parading the public streets with a pair of choke-bore pants on. He said it this afternoon and Anna heard about it and came right straight and told me.”
“Strong language for a minister of the Gospel to be using,” commented Mr. Bugbee. “Still, the comparison is apt. Choke-bore, eh? Not so bad for a backwoods preacher. The man has traveled and seen the world.”
“It wasn’t the minister, stupid! It was another man. At that the minister—I mean the Reverend Mr. Peters, not the other one—glared at me today as though he were thinking unutterable things. I thought then he might be miffed because I’d been to see the other minister first. He behaved so—so stand-offish and sort of hostile when I told him about our plan for having a joint Christmas tree for both Sunday Schools. But since I talked with Anna I’m pretty sure it must have been my clothes he didn’t like. I’m afraid some of these people are going to be rather difficult, really I am!”
“I’m going to be a trifle difficult myself unless those cigars get here soon,” said Mr. Bugbee. “Say, they seem to be having unusually long and silent nights up here this winter, don’t they?” he added. “I never thought I’d become so city-broke that I’d miss the plaintive call of the taxicab mooing for its first-born. Gee—it’s nearly nine o’clock. If the lights in this house aren’t turned out pretty soon some unacquainted passers-by—if any such there be—will suspect the presence of burglars on the premises.”
It was on Friday afternoon of that week that a female villager called. She had a keen and searching gaze—that was the first thing to be noticed when the door had been opened in response to her knock. And the second striking thing about her was that on taking a seat she seemed to sink into herself sectionally rather in the style of certain nautical instruments.
The collapsible-looking lady stayed on for upwards of an hour. Upon leaving, she uncoupled joint by joint, as it were, becoming again a person of above the average height. Mr. Bugbee, who after a mumbled introduction and a swift appraisal of the visitor had betaken himself to another part of the house, reentered the living-room upon her departure.
“Who,” he asked, “who is yon gentle stranger with the telescopic eye and the self-folding figure? I failed to catch the name.”
“Miss Teasdale—a Miss Henny Teasdale.”
“Did you say Henny—or do my ears deceive me?”