as scarfing itself in shadows. There was
laughter in her eyes. Louisa could not pierce beneath that laughter to
find if there were anything under it.

"Fudge!" said Louisa. "What on earth did you and Peter quarrel about?"
she added, curiously.

"I've often wondered," parried Nancy.

"And you've never seen him since?" reflected Louisa.

"No. Has he changed much?"

"Well, some. He is gray and kind of tired-looking. But it isn't to be
wondered at--living the life he does. He hasn't had a housekeeper for
two years--not since his old aunt died. He just lives there alone and
cooks his own meals. I've never been in the house, but folks say the
disorder is something awful."

"Yes, I shouldn't think Peter was cut out for a tidy housekeeper," said
Nancy lightly, dragging up more mint. "Just think, Louisa, if it hadn't
been for that old quarrel I might be Mrs. Peter Wright at this very
moment, mother to the aforesaid supposed half dozen, and vexing my soul
over Peter's meals and socks and cows."

"I guess you are better off as you are," said Louisa.

"Oh, I don't know." Nancy looked up at the white house on the hill
again. "I have an awfully good time out of life, but it doesn't seem to
satisfy, somehow. To be candid--and oh, Louisa, candour is a rare thing
among women when it comes to talking of the men--I believe I'd rather
be cooking Peter's meals and dusting his house. I wouldn't mind his bad
grammar now. I've learned one or two valuable little things out yonder,
and one is that it doesn't matter if a man's grammar is askew, so long
as he doesn't swear at you. By the way, is Peter as ungrammatical as
ever?"

"I--I don't know," said Louisa helplessly. "I never knew he WAS
ungrammatical."

"Does he still say, 'I seen,' and 'them things'?" demanded Nancy.

"I never noticed," confessed Louisa.

"Enviable Louisa! Would that I had been born with that blessed faculty
of never noticing! It stands a woman in better stead than beauty or
brains. _I_ used to notice Peter's mistakes. When he said 'I seen,' it
jarred on me in my salad days. I tried, oh, so tactfully, to reform him
in that respect. Peter didn't like being reformed--the Wrights always
had a fairly good opinion of themselves, you know. It was really over a
question of syntax we quarrelled. Peter told me I'd have to take him as
he was, grammar and all, or go without him. I went without him--and ever
since I've been wondering if I were really sorry, or if it were