her
hair was elaborately dressed with little ringlets across the forehead
and around the ears, so Josie at once decided it was a wig.

Seeing a stranger before her, Miss Huckins looked her over carefully
from head to foot, while Josie smiled a vacuous, inconsequent smile and
said in a perfunctory way:

"Good morning."

"Come in," returned Miss Huckins, with affable civility. "I don't think
I know you."

"I'm Josie Jessup, from the city. I'm in your line, Miss Huckins--in a
way, that is. I've come here to do some sewing for Mary Louise Burrows,
who is the granddaughter of Colonel Hathaway, who has rented the Kenton
Place. Nice weather, isn't it?"

Miss Huckins was not enthusiastic. Her face fell. She had encouraged
sundry hopes that the rich little girl would employ her to do whatever
sewing she might need. So she resumed the pressing of a new dress that
was spread over her ironing-board and said rather shortly:

"Anything I can do for you?"

"I want to use some red thread and the storekeeper doesn't keep it in
stock. Queer old man, that storekeeper, isn't he?"

"I don't call him queer. He's honest as the day is long and makes a
good landlord. Country stores don't usually keep red thread, for it is
seldom used."

"He has been talking to me about old Mr. Cragg, who has an office next
door to you. I'm sure you'll admit that Mr. Cragg is queer, if the
storekeeper isn't."

"A man like Mr. Cragg has the right to be queer," snapped the
dressmaker, who did not relish this criticism of the natives by a
perfect stranger. "He is very quiet and respectable and makes a very
satisfactory neighbor."

Josie, seated in a straight, wood-bottomed chair, seemed not at all
chagrined by her reception. She watched the pressing for a time
silently.

"That's a mighty pretty gown," she presently remarked, in a tone of
admiration. "I don't suppose I shall ever be able to make anything as
nice as that. I--I'm not good at planning, you know," with modest
self-deprecation. "I only do plain sewing and mending."

The stern features of Miss Huckins relaxed a bit. She glanced at the
girl, then at her work, and said more pleasantly than she had before
spoken:

"This dress is for Mary Donovan, who lives two miles north of here.
She's to be married next Saturday--if they get the haying over with by
that time--and this is part of her trousseau. I've made her two other
dresses and trimmed two hats for her--a straw shape and a felt
Gainsb