t was, he
told himself, unlikely that she would come to the Spence house again.
When her property was repaired she probably would expect some one
either to let her know, or bring it to her. It was to the latter
alternative that Bob was pinning his hopes. The errand would provide a
perfectly natural excuse for him to go to the Brewster home, and once
there he would meet the girl's family and perhaps be asked to come
again. Until the trinket came back from Boston, therefore, he must
bide his time with patience.

Nevertheless the logic of these arguments did not prevent him from
turning sharply toward the door of the workshop whenever there was a
footfall on the grass. Any day, any hour, any moment the lady of his
dreams might appear once more. Had not Willie said that she sometimes
trimmed bonnets for Tiny? And was it not possible, yea, even likely
that his aunt might be needing a bonnet right away. Women were always
needing bonnets, argued the young man vaguely; at least, both his
mother and sister were, and he had not yet lived long enough in his
aunt's household to realize that with Tiny Morton the purchase of a
bonnet was not an equally casual enterprise. He even had the temerity
to ask Celestina when he saw her arrayed for the grange one afternoon
why she did not have a hat with pink in it and was chagrined to receive
the reply that she did not like pink; and that anyway her hat was well
enough as it was, and she shouldn't have another for a good couple of
years.

"I don't go throwin' money away on new hats like you city folks do,"
she said somewhat tartly. "A hat has to do me three seasons for best
an' a fourth for common. I've too much to do to go chasin' after the
fashions. I leave that to Bart Coffin's wife."

"Who is Bart Coffin?" inquired Bob, amused by her show of spirit.

"You ain't met Bart?"

"Not yet."

"Well, you will. He's the one who always used to stow all his catch of
fish in the bow of the boat 'cause he said it was easier to row
downhill. He ain't no heavyweight for brains as you can see, an' years
ago he married a wife feather-headed as himself. He did it out of
whole cloth, too, so he's got no one to blame if he don't like his
bargain. At the time of the weddin' he was terrible stuck up about his
bride, an' he gave her a black satin dress that outdid anything the
town had ever laid eyes on. It was loaded down with ruffles, an' jet,
an' lace, an' fitted her like as if she wa