ly the easy day of the week.
Their midday meal, never elaborate or formal, was less formal and even
simpler on this day; conversation was more free, and time less
considered.

For several days after Sally's extraordinary marriage Mrs. Monroe had
wept continually, and even her always mild and infrequent attempts at
conversation had been silenced. Later, she and Lydia had long and
mournful discussions of the event, punctuating them with heavy sighs
and uncomprehending shaking of their heads. That a Monroe in her senses
could stoop to a Hawkes was a fact that would never cease to puzzle and
amaze, and what the town was saying and thinking in the matter was an
agonized speculation to Mrs. Monroe and Lydia. "Socially, of course,"
said Lydia, "we will never hold up our heads again!"

But as the days went by and the divorce of the young Mulkeys, and the
new baby at Mrs. Hughie Wilson's, and the Annual Strawberry Festival
and Bazaar for the Church Debt came along to make the gossip about
Sally and Joe of secondary interest, Sally's mother and sister revived.
They came to take a bitter-sweet satisfaction in the sympathy and
interest that were shown on all sides.

Martie was not often at home in these days. "She fairly lives at the
Library, and she takes long walks, I imagine, Ma," Lydia said once.
"You know Martie misses--she's lonely. And then--there was, of course,
the feeling about Rodney. It's just Martie's queer way of righting
herself."

But on the hot Wednesday morning that brought in July Martie, with a
clear conscience, was baking gingerbread. She had improved in manner
and habit, of late, displaying an unwonted interest in the care of
herself and her person, and an unwonted energy in discharging domestic
duties.

She was buttering pans vigorously, and singing "The Two Grenadiers,"
when Lydia came into the kitchen.

"Martie, Pa just came in the gate. Isn't that maddening! We'll have to
give him something canned; he hates eggs. Can't you make some drop
cakes of that batter so they'll be done?"

"Sure I can!" Martie snatched a piece of paper to butter. "But what
brings him home?"

"Why, I haven't the faintest----" Lydia was beginning, when her
father's voice came in a shout from the dining room:

"Martie--Martie--MARTIE!"

Terror seized Martie, her mouth watered saltly, her knees touched, and
a chill shook her. The hot day turned bleak. She and Lydia exchanged a
sick look before Martie, trembling, crossed th