ettie Ann, how Tom
Mayberry cured that big preacher of a lost voice who was a friend to
this Doctor Stein, while the boy wasn't nothing but serving his term in
the hospital. He wrote a paper about it that made all the doctors take
notice of him and he have done it twice since, though throats are just
a side issue from skins with him. Yes, I'm expecting of him to cure
this child and give her back more'n just her voice, her work in life.
I'm one that believes that the Lord borns all folks with a work to do
and you've got to march on to it, whether it's singing in public
places, carrying saddle-bags to suffering or jest playing your tune on
the wash-board at home. It's a part of his hallelujah chorus in which
we've all got to join."

"Well, I shorely drawed the wash-board fer my instrumint," answered
Mrs. Peavey with a vindictive look across the wall at a line of clothes
fluttering in the breeze.

"And they ain't nobody in Providence that turns out as white a
shirt-song as you do, Hettie Ann. Buck and Mr. Peavey are just looked
at in church Sundays fer the color of they collars," Mother hastened to
say with pride in the glance that followed Mrs. Peavey's across the
wall. "Ain't Tom always a-contriving with you to sneak one of his
shirts into your wash, so as not to hurt me and Cindy's feelings? I
don't see how you get 'em so white."

"Elbow grease and nothing else," answered Mrs. Peavey in a tone of
voice that refused to be mollified. "I've got to be a-going."

"Just wait and look at these chickens; ain't they pretty? Tom sent all
the way to Indiany fer the settin' of eggs fer me and I've just been
a-watching the day for 'em to hatch. I feel they are a-going to be a
credit to me and I'm glad I gave 'em to Ruffle Neck to set on. She's
such a good hoverer and can be depended on to run from the rain. Now
ain't they pretty?" and Mother even looked at Mrs. Peavey with hope for
a word of sympathy in her pleasure--after a thirty years' experience
with her neighbor.

"No," answered her friend, "I don't hold with no fancy chickens. Just
good dominicks is all I've got any faith in and not much in them. With
strange chickens and girls around your house something misfortunate is
a-going to happen to you, Mis' Mayberry, and I see it a-coming. Don't
say I didn't tell you."

"No, I'll give you credit for your warning," answered Mother
propitiatingly. "How's that pain in your side?" she hastened to ask, to
change the subject from