a pin, and that anybody
with them freckles and that red hair was sure to be smart. You could
always tell. Mrs. Robbins knew her reputation for extreme acuteness, and
tried to live up to it.

"Law! don't you go to stirrin' on him up," said Mrs. Solomon Page
comfortably, putting on the cover of her butter-box, which had contained
the family lunch. "If the store's closed, he can slip the letter into
the box, an' three cents with it, an' they'll put a stamp on in the
mornin'."

By this time, there was a general dusting of crumbs from Sunday gowns, a
settling of boxes and baskets, and the feminine portion of the East
Tiverton congregation, according to ancient custom, passed into the pews
nearest the stove, and arranged itself more compactly for the midday
gossip. This was a pleasant interlude in the religious decorum of the
day; no Sunday came when the men did not trail off to the store for
their special council, and the women, with a restful sense of sympathy
alloyed by no disturbing element, settled down for an exclusively
feminine view of the universe. Mrs. Page took the head of the pew, and
disposed her portly frame so as to survey the scene with ease. She was a
large woman, with red cheeks and black, shining hair. One powerful arm
lay along the back of the pew, and, as she talked, she meditatively beat
the rail in time. Her sister, Mrs. Ellison, according to an intermittent
custom, had come over from Saltash to attend church, and incidentally to
indulge in a family chat. It was said that Tilly rode over about jes' so
often to get the Tiverton news for her son Leonard, who furnished local
items to the Sudleigh "Star;" and, indeed, she made no secret of sitting
down in social conclave with a bit of paper and a worn pencil in hand,
to jog her memory. She, too, had smooth black hair, but her dark eyes
were illumined by no steadfast glow; they snapped and shone with alert
intelligence, and her great forehead dominated the rest of her face,
scarred with a thousand wrinkles by intensity of nature rather than by
time. A pleasant warmth had diffused itself over the room, so cold
during the morning service that foot-stoves had been in requisition.
Bonnet strings were thrown back and shawls unpinned. The little world
relaxed and lay at ease.

"What's the news over your way, sister?" asked Mrs. Ellison, as an
informal preliminary.

"Tilly don't want to give; she'd ruther take," said Mrs. Baxter, before
the other could answer.