ively awestruck voice.

"That's what I'm afraid it is, Bettie," answered Mother, "and it hurts
me hard to think how he have served the Lord and helped us all in our
duty to Him and each other, she a-giving us of her bounty of
sister-love, and now, when they's old and feeble, a-feeling the pinch
of need. The young can reach out and help theyselves to they share of
life, but it oughter be handed old folks with thoughtful respect. We've
got to do something about it."

"Course we have," assented the widow heartily. "But how are we a-going
to just give 'em things offen a cold collar? They're both so proud.
With owning the house, the bit the church gives 'em would do the rest,
but the Deacon have tooken that debt no-'count Will Bostick run off and
left down in the City to pay, and it have left 'em at starvation's
door. But that's neither here nor there; we've got to do something.
They don't need much but food, and Mis' Bostick is most too weak now to
cook it if they has the ingredients gave 'em to hand. They must be did
for some way."

"And we've got to do it without a-giving them a single hurt feeling,
either," said Mother. "Enough good-will jelly will hide any kind of
charity pill, I say. Not as what we do for her and the Deacon can ever
be anything but thanks rendered for the blessing of them. But you get
to thinking, Bettie. The knees to my wits are getting old and stiff."

"Well, there's a donation party," suggested the widow thoughtfully.
"Everybody could help, and it could be made real pleasant with the men
asked to come in after supper. Everything could be gave from stovewood
to the Deacon some new Sunday pants. We did that once before, five
years ago to his birthday, and they was mighty pleased. Let's do it
again."

"But that was before this disgrace of Will happened, and they didn't
downright need the things then--it were all sort of complimentary. When
needs are gave it's charity, but what you don't want is just a present.
We've got to find a way to do up needs in a present package for 'em. I
declare, I feel right put to know what to do." Mother Mayberry's voice
was actually worried, and she paused with her scissors ready to snip a
bit of the gingham into narrow bands.

"Well, we oughter be thankful we've got the things to give, and we'll
find some sort of way to slip up on the blind side of them about the
taking of them. The Deacon's britches is one pressing thing. Can't we
take some of the church carpet mo