ther's nice things, an' she's
comin' home with me now, an' have some nice roast spare-rib an'
turnip. There ain't nothin' to take on about."

Hannah fairly pulled Sarah off the stone-wall. "Sylvy an' me have got
to go," said she. "You come down this afternoon, an' we'll all go
over to her house, an' talk it over. I s'pose Richard will come
to-night. I hope he'll shave first, an' put on his coat. I never see
such a lookin' sight as he was when I met him jest now."

"I didn't see as he looked very bad," said Sylvia, with dignity.

"It seems as if it would kill me jest to think of it," sobbed Sarah
Barnard, turning tremulously away.

"Don't you feel bad about it any longer, Sarah," Sylvia said, half
absently. Her hair blew out wildly from under her hood over her
flushed cheeks; she smiled as if at something visible, past her
sister, and past everything around her.

"I tell you there ain't nothin' to be killed about!" Hannah called
after Sarah; she caught hold of Sylvia's arm. "Sarah always was kind
of hystericky," said she. "That spare-rib will be all dried up, an' I
wouldn't give a cent for it, if you don't come along."

Richard Alger and Sylvia Crane were married very soon. There was no
wedding, and people were disappointed about that. Hannah Berry tried
to persuade Sylvia to have one. "I'm willin' to make the cake," said
she. "I've jest been through one weddin', but I'll do it. If I'd been
goin' with a feller as long as you have with him, I wouldn't get
cheated out of a weddin', anyhow. I'd have a weddin' an' I'd have
cake, an' I'd ask folks, especially after what's happened. I'd let
'em see I wa'n't quite so far gone, if I had set out for the
poor-house once. I'd have a weddin'. Richard's got money enough. I
had real good-luck with Rose's cake, an' I ain't afraid to try yours.
I guess I should make it a little mite stiffer than I did hers."

But Sylvia was obdurate. She did not say much, but she went her own
way. She had gained a certain quiet decision and dignity which
bewildered everybody. Her sisters had dimly realized that there was
something about her out of plumb, as it were. Her nature had been
warped to one side by one concentrated and unsatisfied desire. "Seems
to me, sometimes, as if Sylvy was kind of queer," Hannah Berry often
said. "I dunno but she's kinder turned on Richard Alger," Sarah would
respond. Now she seemed suddenly to have regained her equilibrium,
and no longer slanted doubtfully across