dmother reminded her, "and I heard the mail train
come in some time ago. You'd better leave the sweepin' an' go and get my
paper."

"Yes, do," Aunt Matilda chimed in, with a sneer. "I can't hardly wait
for this week's paper, more'n the other sufferin' five million can.
Maybe there'll be a pattern for a cucumber milkin' stool in this week's
paper; somethin' made out of a soap-box, with cucumber leaves and
blossoms painted on it with some green and yellow house paint that
happens to be left over. And," she continued, "they'd ought to be a pail
too, but I reckon a tin can'll do, for the cucumbers I've seen so far
don't look as if they'd be likely to give much milk. We can paint the
can green and paste a picture of a cucumber on the outside from the seed
catalogue. Of course I ain't got any freckles, but there's nothin' like
havin' plenty of cucumber milk in the house, with hot weather comin'
on."

Grandmother surveyed Matilda with a penetrating, icy stare. "You've got
freckles on your mind," she said. "Rosemary, will you go to the
post-office and not keep me waiting?"

The girl glanced at her brown gingham dress, and hesitated.

"You're clean enough," Grandmother observed, tartly. "Anybody'd think
you had a beau waitin' for you somewheres."

[Sidenote: Young People's Calls]

She flushed to her temples, but did not speak. Her face was still red
when she went out, wearing a brown straw hat three Summers old.

"The paper says," Grandmother continued, "that a blush is becomin' to
some women, but Rosemary ain't one that looks well with a red face. Do
you suppose she has got a beau?"

"Can't prove it by me," Matilda sighed, looking pensively out of the
window. "That Marsh boy come to see her once, though."

"He didn't come again, I notice, no more'n the minister did."

"No," Matilda rejoined, pointedly, with a searching glance at
Grandmother, "and I reckon it was for the same reason. When young folks
comes to see young folks, they don't want old folks settin' in the room
with 'em all the time, talkin' about things they ain't interested in."

"Young folks!" snorted Grandmother. "You was thirty!"

"That ought to be old enough to set alone with a man for a spell,
especially if he's a minister."

"I suppose you think," the old lady returned, swiftly gathering her
ammunition for a final shot, "that the minister was minded to marry you.
I've told you more 'n once that you're better off the way you are.
Marriage ain't m