“It certainly does look fine, Abby,” said she. “And I guess nobody but you would have thought of having it.”
Mrs. Daggett beamed. “I thought of it the minute I heard about that city church that done it. I call it a real tasty way to treat a minister as nice as ours.”
“So ’tis,” agreed Mrs. Dodge with the air of complacent satisfaction she had acquired since Fanny’s marriage to the minister. “And I think Wesley’ll appreciate it.”
Mrs. Daggett’s face grew serious. Then her soft bosom heaved with mirth.
“’Tain’t everybody that’s lucky enough to have a minister right in the family,” said she briskly. “Mebbe if I was to hear a sermon preached every day in the week I’d get some piouser myself. I’ve been comparing this with the fair we had last summer. It ain’t so grand, but it’s newer. A fair’s like a work of nature, Maria; sun and rain and dew, and the scrapings from the henyard, all mixed with garden ground to fetch out cabbages, potatoes or roses. God gives the increase.”
Mrs. Dodge stared at her friend in amazement.
“That sounds real beautiful, Abby,” she said. “You must have thought it all out.”
“That’s just what I done,” confirmed Mrs. Daggett happily. “I’m always meditating about something, whilst I’m working ’round th’ house. And it’s amazing what thoughts’ll come to a body from somewheres.... What you going to do with them wreaths, Maria?”
“Why, I was thinking of putting ’em right up here,” said Mrs. Dodge, pointing.
“A good place,” said Mrs. Daggett. “Remember Fanny peeking through them wreaths last summer? Pretty as a pink! An’ now she’s Mis’ Reveren’ Elliot. I seen him looking at her that night.... My! My! What lots of things have took place in our midst since then.”