carlet woman.'"

"My life!" exclaimed Mrs. Tomkins.

"I declare," said Mrs. Ploughman, "I wouldn't be Mrs. Wicket, or Miss
Beal, not for a thousand dollars."

Mrs. Tomkins sighed. "It's real sad," she said. "I'd like to find Mr.
Jeminy; it would ease the old woman's last hours. But he's likely far
away by this time. And there's no one could spare the time to go after
him, even if a body knew where he was. Though I've an idea he went
south, through Milford. Walking, I should say."

"The ole vagabone," exclaimed Mrs. Ploughman.

"Yes," Mrs. Tomkins declared with energy, "it's a wicked sin, Mrs.
Ploughman, for him to be away now, and Mrs. Grumble taken down mortal.
He's been a good friend to William for nigh on twenty years. I'd go
after him myself, if it weren't for my rheumatism."

"Well," said Mrs. Ploughman, "I never heard of such a thing."

"There's lots you never heard of, Mrs. Ploughman," said Mrs. Tomkins.
And folding her hands, she gazed at her friend with quiet satisfaction.

Little Juliet, playing on the steps with her doll Sara, missed none of
this conversation, only a part of which, however, she understood.
While she dressed and undressed her child, made of rags and sawdust,
put her to sleep and woke her up again, she was listening with
attention first to Mrs. Tomkins, and then to Mrs. Ploughman.

"Let's play you're Mrs. Grumble," she told Sara. And she covered the
doll with her handkerchief. Sara did not mind the square piece of
cambric, which Juliet often used to carry small handfuls of earth from
one place to another. "I'm mother," said Juliet. Rising to her feet,
she went out into the garden, and returned again. "My dear Mrs.
Grumble," she exclaimed, "how do you feel to-day?"

"Very poorly, thank you," replied Sara, in that curious squeak with
which all of Juliet's children answered their mother.

"Well, that's too bad," said Juliet. "Where does it hurt you, Mrs. G.?"

"In the stummick," squeaked Sara.

Juliet shook her head soberly. "Dear me," she said. "Well, cheer up,
Mrs. Grumble; what would you like to have?"

"Ice cream," said Sara hopefully, "and fritters."

"All right," said Juliet. She went back into the garden, whence she
presently returned with a few dead leaves and some mud. "Here," she
said; "here's the ice cream. And here's the fritters. Don't get sick,
now, will you?"

"No," said Sara.

Her mother gazed at her with sympathy. "What else would you like?"