In her plain print dress, she had the air of a
masquerading duchess, and her blue eyes were as clear and beautiful as
those which were watching her from the door.

"Take this chair," she said, pushing forward a straight-backed armchair.
"It's the one you always like. How am I obstinate, dear Mrs. Tree?"

"If I've asked you once to come and live with me, I've asked you fifty
times," grumbled the old lady, sitting down with a good deal of flutter
and rustle. "There I must stay, left alone at my age, with nobody but
that old goose of a Direxia Hawkes to look after me. And all because you
like to be independent. Set you up! Well, I sha'n't ask you again, and
so I've come to tell you, Mary Jaquith."

"Dear old friend, you forgive me, I know. You never can have thought for
a moment, seriously, that I could be a burden on your kind hands. There
surely is some one with you, Mrs. Tree! Is it Direxia? Please be seated,
whoever it is."

She turned her beautiful face and clear, quiet eyes toward the door.
There was a slight sound, as of a sob checked in the outbreak. Mrs. Tree
shook her head, fiercely. The blind woman rose from her seat, very pale.

"Who is it?" she said. "Be kind, please, and tell me."

"I'm going to tell you," said Mrs. Tree, "if you will have patience for
two minutes, and not drive every idea out of my head with your
questions. Mary, I--I had a visitor last night. Some one came to see
me--an old acquaintance--who had--who had heard of Willy lately. Willy
is--doing well, my dear. Now, Mary Jaquith, if you don't sit down, I
won't say another word. Of all the unreasonable women I ever saw in my
life--"

Mrs. Tree stopped, and rose abruptly from her seat. The blind woman was
holding out her arms with a heavenly gesture of appeal, of welcome, of
love unutterable: her face was the face of an angel. Another moment, and
her son's arms were round her, and her head on his bosom, and he was
crying over and over again, "Mother! mother! mother!" as if he could not
have enough of the word.

"Arthur was a nice boy, too!" said Mrs. Tree, as she closed the door
behind her.

* * * * *

Five minutes later, Mrs. Weight, hurrying up the plank walk which led to
the Widow Jaquith's door, was confronted by the figure of her opposite
neighbor, sitting on the front doorstep, leaning her chin on her stick,
and looking, as Mrs. Weight told the deacon afterward, like Satan's
grandmother.

"Want t