t there's more of
it, after all, and it doesn't slip out so easily."

"No, the bottom of things doesn't fall out at once, as it used to, and
leave nothing in our empty hands."

"That sounds almost sad. Don't you be melancholy, Lucy Eastman."

"I'm not, Mary--I'm not a bit. I'm only remembering that I used to be."

"We used to go to the well with a sieve instead of a pitcher; that's
really the difference," said Mary Leonard. "We've learned not to be
wasteful, that's all."

"What fun we used to have," said Lucy, her eyes shining, "visiting your
cousins!"

"It _was_ fun!" said the other. "Do you remember the husking party at
the Kendals' barn?"

"Of course I do, and the red ears that that Chickering girl was always
finding! I think she picked them out on purpose, so that Tom Endover
would kiss her. It was just like those Chickerings!" There was a gentle
venom in Lucy Eastman's tones that made Mary Leonard laugh till the
tears came into her eyes.

"Minnie Chickering wasn't the only girl that Tom Endover kissed, if I
remember right," she said, with covert intention.

"Well, he put the red ear into my hands himself, and I just husked it
without thinking anything about it," retorted Lucy Eastman, with spirit.

"Of course you did, of course you did," asseverated Mary Leonard,
whereupon the other laughed too, but with reservation.

"And do you remember old Miss Pinsett's, where we used to go to act
charades?"

"Yes, indeed, in the old white house at the foot of the hill, with a
cupola. She seemed so old; I wonder how old she was?"

"Perhaps we shouldn't think her so old to-day. People used to wear caps
earlier then than they do now. I think when they were disappointed in
love they put on caps! Miss Pinsett had been disappointed in love, so
they said."

"They will have old maids disappointed in love," said Lucy, with some
asperity. "They will have me--some people--and I never was."

"I know you weren't. But I don't think it's as usual as it was to say
that about old maids. It's more the fashion now to be disappointed in
marriage."

There had been several stops at the stations along the road. The day was
wearing on. Suddenly Lucy Eastman turned to her companion.

"Mary," she said, "let's play we were girls again, and going to
Englefield just as we used to go--thirty-five years ago. Let's pretend
that we're going to do the same things and see the same people and have
the same fun. We're off by ourselves, just