ll intercourse between these warring spirits might have ended but
for Nancy Pease's persistent civility. She would speak to her rival on
every occasion, and even call upon her if she could gain admittance to
the house. And now the last drop of bitterness fell into the widow's
cup, for the community, to distinguish between them, began calling her
"Ol' Sis' Pease." This was the climax of her sorrows, and she who had
been so devout came no more to the church; she who had been so cheerful
and companionable grew morose and sour and shut her doors against her
friends. She was as one dead to her old world. The one bit of vivid life
about her was her lasting hatred of the woman who bore her name. In vain
the preacher sought to break down the barrier of her animosity. She had
built it of adamant, and his was a losing fight. So for several years
the feud went on, and those who had known Ann in her cheerier days
forgot that knowledge and spoke of her with open aversion as "dat awful
ol' Mis' Pease." The while Nancy, in spite of "Wi'yum's" industrial
vagaries, had flourished and waxed opulent. She continued to flaunt her
Christian humility in the eyes of her own circle, and to withhold her
pity from the poor, lonely old woman whom hate had made bitter and to
whom the world, after all, had not been over-kind. But prosperity is
usually cruel, and one needs the prick of the thorn one's self to know
how it stings his brother.

She was startled one day, however, out of her usual placidity. Sister
Martin, one of her neighbours, dropped in and settling herself with a
sigh announced the important news, "Well, bless Gawd, ol' Sis' Pease is
gone at last."

Nancy dropped the plate she had been polishing, and unheeded, it smashed
into bits on the floor.

"Wha'--what!" she exclaimed.

"Yes'm," Sister Martin assured her, "de ol' lady done passed away."

"I didn't know she was sick; w'en she die?"

"She done shet huh eyes on dis worl' o' sorror des a few minutes ago.
She ain't bin sick mo'n two days."

Nancy had come to herself now, and casting her eyes up in an excess of
Christian zeal, she said: "Well, she wouldn't let me do nuffin' fu' huh
in life, but I sut'ny shell try to do my duty by huh in death," and
drying her hands and throwing a shawl over her head, she hastened over
to her dead enemy's house.

The news had spread quickly and the neighbourhood had just begun to
gather in the little room which held the rigid form. Nancy entere