Belle have the front porch, and I can truthfully say that I
never interfered with Henry's courtin'. But, as I said a while ago, I
made up my mind to find out what was the matter. Well, the next time
Henry come, they sat out on the front porch, and I was on the back porch
as usual. But I had to go into the front room once or twice after
somethin' I left there, and it was so dark in the hall, I had to grope
my way across right slow, and I heard Anna Belle say: 'I'm all mother
has in the world,' and Henry said somethin' I couldn't hear, but I
reckon he said that he was all his mother had, and Anna Belle says: 'It
wouldn't be right and I never could be happy, thinkin' of your mother
and my mother all alone.' Well, by that time I was in the front room and
got what I went for and started back; and, as I said, the hall was dark
and I had to go slow, and I dropped my pocket handkerchief, and when I
stopped to pick it up, I couldn't help hearin' what Anna Belle and Henry
was talkin' about."

She leaned comfortably back in her chair and chuckled heartily as she
recalled the scene.

"I reckon I might as well own up that I didn't hurry myself pickin' up
that handkerchief and gettin' out o' the hall. I know eavesdroppin' is a
disgraceful thing, and this is a plain case of eavesdroppin', but I
trust you never to tell this to anybody as long as you live."

"You can trust me," said Mrs. Martin firmly. "I never broke a promise in
my life."

"Well," resumed Mrs. Williams, "as I was savin', I stood there in the
hall pickin' up my pocket handkerchief, and I heard your Henry give a
sigh,--I could hear it plain,--and says he: 'Well, Anna Belle, I suppose
there's nothin' for us to do but wait,' and Anna Belle says: 'I'll wait
for you, as long as you'll wait for me, Henry, and longer.' And then
they stopped talkin' for awhile, and I knew exactly how they felt,
sittin' there in the dark, lovin' each other and thinkin' about each
other, and all their plans come to a dead stop, and nothin' ahead of 'em
but waitin'. Now, what do you think of that, Mrs. Martin? They're
waitin'. Waitin' for what? Why, for us to die, of course. They don't
know it, and if we accused 'em of it, they'd deny it hard and fast, for
they're good, dutiful children, and they love us. But we're
stumblin'-blocks in their way, and they're waitin' for us to die."

She paused dramatically to let her words have their full weight with the
listener. Mrs. Martin was leaning forw