ngaged
in reading those aimless shreds of local information which usually
make up the outside pages of the weekly newspaper. She could not
possibly feel the slightest interest in the fact that Mr. and Mrs.
James M. Snider of West Schofield were entertaining a daughter, whose
net weight was reported to be nine and three quarters pounds; or that
Miss Elizabeth Wardwell of Eltingville had just issued beautifully
engraved invitations to her wedding, which was to take place on the
seventeenth day of October--yet she went on reading. Everybody read
the paper. Sometimes they talked about what they read. Anyway, her
work was over for the day--all except tea, which was negligible; so
she went on, somewhat drearily suppressing a yawn, to a description
of the new water-works, which were being speedily brought to
completion in "our neighboring enterprising town of Brookville."

Fanny already knew all there was to tell concerning the concrete
reservoir on the mountain, the big conduit leading to the village and
the smaller pipes laid wherever there were householders desiring
water. These were surprisingly few, considering the fact that there
would be no annual charge for the water, beyond the insignificant sum
required for its up-keep. People said their wells were good enough
for them; and that spring water wasn't as good as cistern water, when
it came to washing. Some were of the opinion that Lydia Orr was in a
fool's hurry to get rid of her money; others that she couldn't stand
it to be out of the limelight; and still other sagacious individuals
felt confident there was something in it for "that girl." Fanny had
heard these various views of Miss Orr's conduct. She was still
striving with indifferent success to rise above her jealousy, and to
this end she never failed to champion Lydia's cause against all
comers. Curiously enough, this course had finally brought her
tranquillity of a sort and an utter unprotesting acquiescence.

Mrs. Whittle had been overheard saying to Mrs. Fulsom that she
guessed, after all, Fanny Dodge didn't care so much about the
minister.

Fanny, deep once more in the absorbing consideration of the question
which had once been too poignant to consider calmly, and the answer
to which she was never to know, permitted the paper to slide off her
knee to the floor: Why had Wesley Elliot so suddenly deserted her?
Surely, he could not have fallen in love with another woman; she was
sure he had been in love with