“It looks that way to me,” Sister Poteet did not hesitate to affirm.
“Well, I heard Sister Clark say that she had heard him call her ‘Kitty’ one night when they were eating ice-cream at the Mite Society,” Sister Candish, the druggist’s wife, added to the fund of reliable information on hand.
“‘Kitty,’ indeed!” protested Sister Spicer. “The idea of anybody calling Kate Stimson ‘Kitty’! The deacon will talk that way to ’most any woman, but if she let him say it to her more than once, she must be getting mighty anxious, I think.”
“Oh,” Sister Candish hastened to explain, “Sister Clark didn’t say she had heard him say it twice.’”
“Well, I don’t think she heard him say it once,” Sister Spicer asserted with confidence.
“I don’t know about that,” Sister Poteet argued. “From all I can see and hear I think Kate Stimson wouldn’t object to ’most anything the deacon would say to her, knowing as she does that he ain’t going to say anything he shouldn’t say.”
“And isn’t saying what he should,” added Sister Green, with a sly snicker, which went around the room softly.
“But as I was saying—” Sister Spicer began, when Sister Poteet, whose rocker, near the window, commanded a view of the front gate, interrupted with a warning, “’Sh-’sh.”
“Why shouldn’t I say what I wanted to when—” Sister Spicer began.
“There she comes now,” explained Sister Poteet, “and as I live the deacon drove her here in his sleigh, and he’s waiting while she comes in. I wonder what next,” and Sister Poteet, in conjunction with the entire society, gasped and held their eager breaths, awaiting the entrance of the subject of conversation.