“Course I am!” agreed Mrs. Black triumphantly.
She had extricated herself from a difficulty with flying colors. She would still preserve her reputation for being a close-mouthed woman who knew a lot more about everything than she chose to tell.
“Anybody can see she’s wearing mournin’,” she added benevolently.
“Oh, I thought mebbe she had a black dress on because they’re stylish. She did look awful pretty in it, with her arms and neck showing through. I like black myself; but mourning—that’s different. Poor young thing, I wonder who it was. Her father, mebbe, or her mother. You didn’t happen to hear her say, did you, Phoebe?”
Mrs. Solomon Black compressed her lips tightly. She paused at her own gate with majestic dignity.
“I guess I’ll have to hurry right in, Abby,” said she. “I have my bread to set.”
Mrs. Solomon Black had closed her gate behind her, noticing as she did so that Wesley Elliot and Lydia Orr had disappeared from the piazza where she had left them. She glanced at Mrs. Daggett, lingering wistfully before the gate.
“Goodnight, Abby,” said she firmly.
Chapter VI.
Mrs. Maria Dodge sifted flour over her molding board preparatory to transferring the sticky mass of newly made dough from the big yellow mixing bowl to the board. More flour and a skillful twirl or two of the lump and the process of kneading was begun. It continued monotonously for the space of two minutes; then the motions became gradually slower, finally coming to a full stop.