Miss Crewe winced. "Of course. That was right. No, I hadn't planned to give him the letters. At first I thought I would, but then I was afraid I might be obliged to tell him how I came to have them, and—I'm a coward. I couldn't bear to risk it. Do you think it's my duty to tell Dr. Ballard, Mrs. Slawson? Tell me what you think I ought to do."
"When a body sets out to tell another body what she'd ought to do, he better be careful," replied Martha gravely. "You never know what you're up against. For instance, if you're tellin' a fella love his neighbor like himself, that's all right, only you wouldn't be countin' on his bein' one o' the kind thinks he's a little tin god on wheels. Bein' as he was that sort, you'd be tellin' 'm make a graven image of his neighbor, which he'd be constantly fallin' down before'm, an' worshippin' 'm, like a heathen idol. You can take it from me, tellin' people what they'd ought to do is a delicate job—too fine for the likes of Martha Slawson. But I'd just as liefs tell you what you hadn't ought to do, one o' which is, lie awake grievin' over spilled milk that's past an' gone. You mustn't lug your mistakes along with you, every place you go, like they was a basket o' dirty clo'es. Now lots besides laundryesses has dirty clo'es to wash, believe me. But if you pack'm up respectable in nice, clean wrappin' paper, with a stout string, or a decent telescope bag, nobody'll be the wiser, an' your neighbors won't objec' sittin' beside you in the cars. It's when you force your dirty clo'es under the noses of the other passengers, an' make'm uncomfortable, they've a kick comin'. No, if I was you (beggin' your pardon for the liberty) I wouldn't tell Dr. Ballard a thing 'twouldn't be a pleasure to'm to hear. I worked for a lady, Mrs. Sherman, an' she used ta wait to do things for, what she called—now, do you believe me, I can't remember the name of it! It was some kind o' moment. She talked about it frequent. The—the—sy——" Martha racked her brains laboriously.
"Could it possibly have been the psychological moment?" suggested Miss Crewe.
"The very one!" Mrs. Slawson took her up triumphantly. "The sykeylogical moment! Mrs. Sherman was dead stuck on it. She used to talk to her brother, Mr. Frank Ronald, about the sykeylogical moment, till you'd think it'd stop the clock. Now if you know what a sykeylogical moment is, an' reco'nize it when it comes along, why, you can take it from me, that'll be a good chance for you to give the doctor the letters in, but not before."
Katherine laughed. "I'm sure you're right, Mrs. Slawson," she said. "I'll wait for the psychological moment. And I'll wash my soiled linen alone, too. You've given me a lot of good advice. I'm much, much happier than I was before you came."
"Well, good-night then, an' God bless you!" said Martha, rising. "Now I'll go back to my—other childern."
Halfway between Crewesmere, and the main road, she came to a standstill.
"Hello!" exclaimed Dr. Ballard. "What are you doing so far from home at the witching hour of eight o'clock? It looks suspicious. Don't you think you'd better stand and deliver?"
Martha beamed, as she always did at sight of those she liked.
"I'll stand, all right, all right, sir, but you can search me for anything to deliver. My husban' he went to New York this mornin', an' before he went, with all my worldly goods I he endowed, accordin' to Scripture, as Mrs. Peckett says."