take it to him; but
there, 't would only make him want another. He's made his bed an' he's
got to lie on it."

"He _lays_ on his bed sure enough, an' most o' the time probably--but
do you believe he ever makes it?"

Amanda shuddered. "I don't know, Susan; it's one o' the things that
haunts me; whether he makes it or whether he don't."

"Do you ever see any wash hung out?" Mrs. Benson's needle stopped in
midair while she waited for Amanda's answer.

"Ye-es; now an' then."

"What kind?"

"Sheets; once a gray blanket; underclothes; but naturally I don't look
when they're hung out. He generally puts 'em on the grass, anyway."

"Well, it's a sin for a man to live so in a Christian country, an' the
kindest thing to say about him is that he's crazy. Some o' the men
folks over to the store declare he is crazy; but William declares he
ain't. He says he's asleep. William kind o' likes him. Does he ever
pass the time o' day with you?"

"Hardly ever. I meet him once or twice a year, maybe, in the road. He
bows when I go past on an errand an' holds on to his dog when he tries
to run out an' bite me."

"That's real kind o' gentlemanly," observed Susan.

"I never thought of it that way," said Amanda absently; "but perhaps
it is. All I can say is, Caleb Kimball's a regular thorn in my flesh.
I can't do anything for him, an' I can't forget him, right under foot
as he is--his land joinin' mine. Mornin', noon, an' night for years
I've wanted to get into that man's house an' make it decent for him;
wanted to milk the cow the right time o' day; feed the horse; weed the
garden; scrub the floor; wash the windows; black the stove."

"How you do go on, Mandy!" exclaimed Mrs. Benson. "What diff'rence
does it make to you how dirty he is, so long's you're clean?"

"It does make a diff'rence, an' it always will. I hate to see the
daisies growin' so thick, knowin' how he needs hay. I want to root 'em
out same's I did mine, after I'd been away three years in Lewiston. I
hate to take my pot o' beans out o' the oven Saturday nights an' know
he ain't had gumption enough to get himself a Christian meal. Livin'
alone 's I do, Susan, things 'bulk up' in my mind bigger'n they'd
ought to."

"They do so," agreed Susan; "an' you mustn't let 'em. You must come
over to our house oftener. You know William loves to have you, an' so
do the boys. The Bible may insinuate we are our brother's keeper, but
we can't none of us help it if he won't _be_ k