he'll put in a tap and a drain-pipe upstairs. It'd save a lot
o' steps."

"Huh! like enough you'll be talkin' about a regular nickel-plated
bathroom like hers, next," suspicioned Mrs. Whittle. "The Deacon says
he did his best to talk her out of it; but she stuck right to it. And
one wa'n't enough, at that. She's got three of 'em in that house.
That's worse'n Andrew Bolton."

"Do you mean _worse_, Ann Whittle, or do you mean _better?_ A nice
white bathtub is a means o' grace, I think!"

"I mean what I said, Abby; and you hadn't ought to talk like that.
It's downright sinful. _Means o' grace! a bathtub!_ Well, I never!"

The ladies of the Aid Society were already convened in Mrs. Dix's
front parlor, a large square room, filled with the cool green light
from a yard full of trees, whose deep-thrust roots defied the
drought. Ellen Dix had just brought in a glass pitcher, its frosted
sides proclaiming its cool contents, when the late comers arrived.

"Yes," Mrs. Dix was saying, "Miss Orr sent over a big piece of ice
this morning and she squeezed out juice of I don't know how many
lemons. Jim Dodge brought 'em here in the auto; and she told him to
go around and gather up all the ladies that didn't have conveyances
of their own."

"And that's how I came to be here," said Mrs. Mixter. "Our horse has
gone lame."

"Well now, wa'n't that lovely?" crowed Mrs. Daggett, cooling her
flushed face with slow sweeps of the big turkey-feather fan Mrs. Dix
handed her. "Ain't she just the sweetest girl--always thinking of
other folks! I never see anything like her."

A subtle expression of reserve crept over the faces of the attentive
women. Mrs. Mixter tasted the contents of her glass critically.

"I don't know," she said dryly, as if the lemonade had failed to cool
her parched throat, "that depends on how you look at it."

Mrs. Whittle gave vent to a cackle of rather discordant laughter.

"That's just what I was telling Abby on the way over," she said.
"Once in a while you do run across a person that's bound to make a
show of their money."

Mrs. Solomon Black, in a green and white sprigged muslin dress, her
water-waves unusually crisp and conspicuous, bit off a length of
thread with a meditative air.

"Well," said she, "that girl lived in my house, off an' on, for more
than two months. I can't say as I think she's the kind that wants to
show off."

Fifteen needles paused in their busy activities, and twice as many
eyes