er. After the dishes were washed, they
seated themselves again on the cool, shadowy porch. Both were feeling
the depression that follows an emotional strain; besides, it was night,
the time when the heart throws off the smothering cares of the day and
cries aloud for its own. It was Mrs. Williams who finally broke the
silence.

"While I think of it," she said, dropping her voice to a confidential
whisper, "I want to tell you what I heard Job Andrews and Sam Moreman
say when they brought my trunk in this mornin'. They didn't know I could
hear 'em, and they were laughin' and whisperin' as they set the trunk
down on the porch, and Job says: 'Some of these days these two women are
goin' to have a rippet that you can hear from one end of this town to
the other,' and Sam says: 'Yes, they'll be dissolvin' partnership in
less than two months.'"

"Did you ever!" ejaculated Mrs. Martin.

"I thought once I'd go out and say somethin' to 'em," pursued Mrs.
Williams, "but I didn't. I just shut my mouth tight, and I made a
solemn resolution right there that there'd never be any rippet if I
could help it, and if there was any, I'd take care that those men never
heard of it, There's nothin' in the world men enjoy so much as seein'
women fall out and quarrel, and I don't intend to furnish 'em with that
sort o' pleasure."

"Nor I," said Mrs. Martin warmly. "I don't see why two women can't live
in peace under the same roof. For my part, quarrelin' comes hard with
me. It's not Christian, and it's not ladylike."

"Well, if I felt inclined to quarrel," said Mrs. Williams, "the thought
of Sam and Job would be enough to keep me from it, and if that's not
enough, there's the thought of Anna Belle and Henry. They can't be happy
unless we get along well together, and we mustn't do anything to spoil
their happiness."

Mrs. Martin made an assenting murmur, and another silence fell between
them, Both were conscious of the strangeness of their new relation. To
Mrs. Martin it seemed that Mrs. Williams was her guest, and she was
vaguely wondering if it would be polite to suggest that it was time to
go to bed. Mrs. Williams rocked to and fro, and the squeak of the old
chair mingled with the shrill notes of the crickets. Presently she
stopped rocking and heaved a deep sigh.

"It's curious," she said, "how grown folks never get over bein'
children. When I was a little girl I used to go out to the country to
visit my Aunt Mary Meadows. I'd get alon