“To-morrow.”
Uncle John smiled, dropped his armful of kindling into the wood box behind the kitchen range, and began to lay the Brobdingnagian bandana handkerchief that served them for a tablecloth.
Aunt Sarah finished the preparation of the bacon and onions and set the coffee pot back when it began to boil.
After supper Uncle John read the seed catalogue and Aunt Sarah resumed her Bennett.
The following afternoon Judge Thompson, who lived in the biggest and best house in the little county seat, was surprised to see from his chair in the big bay window an antiquated carriage drawn by a retired farm horse draw up before his cast-iron negro hitching post. In the carriage were Aunt Sarah and Uncle John.
Judge Thompson was on the porch in time to receive his guests.
“We’ve come to get a divorce,” said Aunt Sarah, with a direct gaze; then she added, with the sang froid of one who is wise, “What’ll it cost?”
The judge motioned them to seats in the wicker chairs on the porch, and then replied:
“But you must have grounds——”
“Everybody knows it. Incompatibility of temperament.”