declare my conscience wouldn't let me rest, no way."
A dull red glow spread slowly over Mrs. Bridges's face.
"Well, I guess you needn't keep hintin' for me to take her," she said, sharply.
"You!" Mrs. Hanna uttered the word in a tone that was an unintentional insult; in fact, Mrs. Bridges affirmed afterward that her look of astonishment, and, for that matter, her whole air of dazed incredulity, were insulting. "I never once thought o' you," she said, with an earnestness that could not be doubted.
"Why not o' me?" demanded Mrs. Bridges, showing something of her resentment. "What you been talkin' about her all day for, 'f you wasn't hintin' for me to take her in?"
"I never thought o' such a thing," repeated her visitor, still looking rather helplessly dazed. "I talked about it because it was on my mind, heavy, too; an', I guess, because I wanted to talk my conscience down."
Mrs. Bridges cooled off a little, and began to drum on the bedpost with her rough fingers.
"Well, if you wasn't hintin'," she said, in a conciliatory tone, "it's all right. You kep' harpin' on the same string till I thought you was; an' it riles me awful to be hinted at. I'll take anything right out to my face, so 's I can answer it, but I won't be hinted at. But why "—having rid herself of the grievance she at once swung around to the insult—"why didn't you think o' me?"
Mrs. Hanna cleared her throat and began to unroll her mitts.
"Well, I don't know just why," she said. helplessly. She drew the mitts on, smoothing them well up over her thin wrists. "I don't know why. I'd thought o' most everybody 'n town—but you never come into my head onct. I was 's innocent o' hintin' 's a baby unborn."
Mrs. Bridges drew a long breath noiselessly.
"Well," she said absent-mindedly, "come again, Mis' Hanna. An' be sure you always fetch your work an' stay the afternoon."
"Well, I will. But it's your turn to come now. Where's Is'phene?"
"I guess she's makin' a fire 'n the cookstove to get supper."
"Well, tell her to come over an' stay all night with Julia some night."
Mrs. Bridges went into the kitchen and sat down, rather heavily, in a chair. Her face wore a puzzled expression.
"Isaphene, did you hear what we was a-sayin' in the bedroom?"
"Yes—most of it, I guess."
"Well, what do you s'pose was the reason she never thought o' me takin' Mis' Lane in? "
"Why, you never thought o' takin' her in yourself, did you?" said Isaphene, turning down the damper of the stove with a clatter. "I don't see how anybody else 'u'd think of it when you didn't yourself."
"Well, don't you think it was awful impudent in her to say that, anyhow?"
"No, I don't. She told the truth."
"Why ought they to think o' everybody takin' her exceptin' me, I'd like to know?"
"Because everybody else, I s'pose, have thought of it theirselves. The neighbors have all been chippin' into help her for years. You never done nothin' for her, did you? You never invited her to visit here, did you?"
"No, I never. But that ain't no sayin' I wouldn't take her 's quick 's the rest of 'em. They ain't none of 'em takin' her very fast, be they?"
"No, they ain't," said Isaphene, facing her mother and looking at her steadily; "they ain't one of 'em but's got their hands full—no spare room, an' lots o' childern or their own folks to take care of."
"Hunh!" said Mrs. Bridges. She began chopping some cold boiled beef for hash.
"I don't believe I'll sleep to-night for thinkin' about it," she said, after a while.
"I won't neither, maw. I wish she wasn't goin' right by here."
"So do I."
After a long silence Mrs. Bridges said, "I don't s'pose your paw 'd hear to our takin' her in."
"I guess he'd hear to 't if we would," said Isaphene, dryly.
"Well, we can't do 't, that's all there is about it," announced Mrs. Bridges, with a great air of having made up her mind. Isaphene did not reply. She was slicing potatoes to fry, and she seemed to agree silently with her mother's decision. Presently, however, Mrs. Bridges said, in a less determined tone, "There's no place to put her exceptin' the spare room, an we can't get along without that, no ways."
"No," said Isaphene, in a non-committal tone.
Mrs. Bridges stopped chopping and looked thoughtfully out the door.
"There's this room openin' out o' the kitchen," she said, slowly. "It's nice anbig an' sunny. It 'u'd be handy 'n winter,
