don't like the night work. Some folks is inconsiderate enough to get
sick in the night. They orter have regular hours for it, same as a
doctor has hours for business. Things would fit better.

"Well, I must be going, for I left soup on the stove, and Araminta's
likely as not to let it burn. I'm going to send your supper over to
you, and next week, if the weather's favourable, we'll clean this
house. Goodness knows it needs it. I'd just as soon send over all
your meals till you get settled--'t wouldn't be any trouble. Or, you
can come over to my house if you wouldn't mind eating with the
minister. It seems queer to set down to the table with a man, and not
altogether natural, but I'm beginning to get used to it, and it gives
us the advantage of a blessing, and, anyway, ministers don't count.
Come over when you can. Goodbye!"

With a rustle of stiffly starched garments Miss Mehitable took her
departure, carefully closing the door and avoiding the appearance of
haste. This was an effort, for every fibre of her being ached to get
back to the clearing house, where she might speculate upon Evelina's
return. It was her desire, also, to hunt up the oldest inhabitant
before nightfall and correct her pitiful lapse of memory.

At the same time, she was planning to send Araminta over with a nice
hot supper, for Miss Evelina seemed to be far from strong, and, even to
one lacking in discernment, acutely unhappy.

Down the road she went, her head bowed in deep and fruitless thought.
Swiftly, as in a lightning flash, and without premonition, she
remembered.

"Evelina was burnt," she said to herself, triumphantly, "over to Doctor
Dexter's, and they took her on the train to the hospital. I guess she
wears that veil all the time."

Then Miss Hitty stopped at her own gate, catching her breath quickly.
"She must have been burnt awful," she thought. "Poor soul!" she
murmured, her sharp eyes softening with tears. "Poor soul!"

III

The Pearls

A rap at the door roused Miss Evelina from a deadly stupor which seemed
stabbed through with daggers of pain. She sat quite still, determined
not to open the door. Presently, she heard the sound of retreating
footsteps, and was reassured. Then she saw a bit of folded paper which
had been slipped under the door, and, mechanically, she picked it up.

"Here's your supper," the note read, briefly. "When you get done,
leave the tray outside. I'll come and get it. I woul