ter many years.

Suzanna, arranging the pantry the next morning, sought her mother
upstairs with a domestic announcement.

"The vinegar bottle is empty," she said.

"And the gherkins all ready," cried Mrs. Procter. "Will you run over to
Mrs. Reynolds and ask her for some vinegar, Suzanna?"

Listlessly, Suzanna returned downstairs, and from the pantry procured a
cup. Slowly she left the house, walked down the front path and across
the road to Mrs. Reynolds' home. Arrived there, she went round to the
back door and knocked with slack knuckles.

Mrs. Reynolds, a white cloth tied about her forehead, opened the door.
She gave out redolently the pungent odor of the commodity Suzanna sought
to borrow.

Mrs. Reynolds was stout and comfortable looking ordinarily. A quaint and
interesting personality, sprung from Welsh parentage, she fitted into
the life of Anchorville only because of a certain natural adaptability.
She seemed to belong to a wilder, more passionate people than those
plain lives which surrounded her.

Suzanna knew her tenderness, her tragic depressions. She loved her deep
voice, her resonant tones, all her quick changes of mood, and her
occasional strange ways of expression, revealing her understanding of
men and women's vagaries.

Mrs. Reynolds adored Suzanna. She had said often there was one thing she
coveted from her neighbor, and that was her neighbor's child.

Mrs. Reynolds had no children and in that deplorable fact lay her
keenest unhappiness.

She greeted Suzanna cordially.

"Come in, Suzanna, come in," she said. "I've been using vinegar and red
pepper all morning," she continued, as she went her way to the pantry
with Suzanna's cup. "I've one of my old headaches."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Suzanna, with immediate sympathy. "Have you
been worrying?"

"Not more than usual, Suzanna," said Mrs. Reynolds with a sigh. "Here's
your vinegar. Hold it steady. Vinegar's a bad thing to spill."

"Thank you," said Suzanna, politely, as she received the cup. And then:
"I don't see why you should worry. You have no children. It's mother's
many children that sometimes give her worry."

"Your mother'd have worries even without you all," returned Mrs.
Reynolds. "Won't you sit down a spell, Suzanna?"

"No, I can't, mother's waiting." Suzanna walked toward the door, pausing
on her way to glance about her. "My, but you're very clean here," she
said, appreciatively. "Your cleanness is different from ours. Our