a dream, for she wasn't lookin' at anybody in particular--she
said: 'I seed Dixie Hart an' Alfred drivin' off this mornin'. They was
headed fer Saunder's Spring, at the foot o' the mountain. She had on her
best duds (which ain't sayin' much)'--them was Carrie's words, not
mine--'an' a whoppin' big picnic basket full o' good things. That girl
will do to watch, Mrs. Henley. As they passed our house the reins was
lyin' loose in the buggy, an' Dixie was leanin' agin Alfred like a sick
kitten to a hot brick.' It was the fust Hettie had heard of the
scrape--the trip, I mean--and I thought she'd flare up, or wilt, or
some'n or other, but she was on the job as quick as a flash. On my soul,
I don't believe old Het so much as batted her eye, though the revelation
must have been as sudden as a mule-kick in the ribs. She give the quilt
she was showin' a pull agin the frame like she wanted to straighten out
the stitches, an' said, 'Yes, Alf give 'er a lift over to Carlton. I'm
awfully glad he had company.' And on that she axed Carrie how her Ma's
sore foot was, an' recommended Dr. Stone's hoss liniment, an' cited a
good many cases where cures to both man an' beast had been made at a
small outlay.

"But Carrie Wade wasn't thar to l'arn how to doctor sore feet. She
leaned back in her chair and laffed; you could 'a' heard her this far if
you'd 'a' been here an' the pig was asleep. She riz and went and slapped
Hettie on the back and said:

'You watch my words, Mrs. Henley, thar's goin' to be talk, an' lots of
it. Dixie Hart has got tired o' bein' out o' the ring of young folks,
an' is bent on gittin' attention by fair means or foul. Alf's
good-lookin', plenty young, an' she's deliberately cuttin' her eyes at
'im. I've heard she goes to the store when she don't need a thing, an'
that they sa'nter home together through the woods.'"

"The trifling hussy!" Henley muttered, angrily. "I thought she was a
meddlesome busybody, and now I know it."

"Well, you know Hettie don't smile more 'n once a year," Wrinkle
tittered, "but this was her anniversary. She was actually one broad grin
from ear to ear."

"'I wish somebody _would_ stir Alf up a little bit,' she said. 'He's
entirely too poky. Carrie, that man is the slowest stick that ever
lived. I wish some pretty, dashin' gal like Dixie Hart _would_ flirt
with him good and hard. If you wasn't so old I'd git _you_ to do it. My
first husband was different; he was a great ladies' man. That is th