Sam Billings was Manville's man of all work, and its most garrulous male gossip. At fifty he was a gray, wrinkled bachelor—through no fault of his own, however—living alone on the scanty income that he picked up through the kindness of his tolerant townsmen. Once Sam had been accused of having proposed to every single woman and widow in town, and had refused to deny or affirm the statement. He was still single, however, and as far from matrimony as he ever had been, except once, when through a misunderstanding on Sam's part, he became engaged to a loquacious old maid with whom he had indiscreetly walked home from meeting. But, fortunately for Sam, the lady died just before the date set for the wedding, leaving him free and more talkative than ever before.

On the morning of the day following the organization of the "Morning Glories" Sam went to the home of Mrs. Darling to put on storm-windows. Mrs. Darling was an attractive woman—to look at—but one of the light sort mentally, and much more interested in the affairs of others than her own. She had been invited to be present at the first meeting of the club, but the arrival of relatives from out of town had prevented her from going. She welcomed Sam cordially, when he came that morning, and invited him to have a cup of coffee before he began work. The morning was cold, the coffee good, and Sam was grateful, and before he had gulped down the last of it Mrs. Darling knew all that was going on in town.

"So Mrs. Browning has a baby at last?" she said as Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yep."

"Boy, or a girl?"

"One, or t'other, I forget which."

"Really."

"Yep, broke up the meetin' of the club so I heard."

"How dreadfully funny."

"And they say that Ezra Tweedie put his foot in it."

"How was that?"

"Why, he was the one that broke the glad news to the gatherin'."

"Oh. What did you say they named the club?"

"Four-o'clocks, or petunias—somethin' like that, it was the name of a flower anyway, I don't jest remember which."

"And Mrs. Tweedie was chosen president?"

"Yes, I knew she'd be."

"Who was it, did you say, that told you?"

"Well, I stopped in at the grocery on my way over, and then I had a bundle to take to Miss Sawyer's, and—Tommy Tweedie told me the rest. Now I guess I'll start in on the winders if you don't mind. I'm in a little mite of a hurry 'cause I've got to go over to Mis' Walton's this afternoon and give her a coat of paint."

"Very well, you'll find the windows in the attic," said Mrs. Darling, reluctantly. "Oh, you said that you were at Miss Sawyer's this morning, how is she?"

"Lookin' pretty fair," replied Sam with some embarrassment.

"I thought that you ought to know."

"Where'd you say them storm-winders was?" Sam asked in an effort to change the subject.

"In the attic. Miss Sawyer would make somebody a good wife."

"I think likely, but—" Sam edged toward the door.

"I've heard, Sam, that you've been going there lately, and that you did not always have a bundle to deliver."

"You're kind of teasin', Mis' Darling, ain't yer?" replied Sam with a grin as he backed out of the room and went up-stairs in search of the storm-windows.

Mrs. Darling was not wholly satisfied with second-hand news, so she ran into Mrs. Thornton's, next door; and, while the baby with a new tooth was having his morning "sample," his mamma related her version of the story of the first meeting of the club.

In order to put on the front chamber windows, it was necessary for Sam to get out on the roof of the piazza. Just as he was climbing out of a window, Alick Purbeck, Mr. Stout's clerk, drove up, and when he saw Sam stopped.

"Hello, Sam," he called, "what you doin' up there?"

"Workin' for my health; doctor says I've got to have three meals a day."

"Doctor nothin'."

"No, Doctor Jones."

"Say, what's this I hear about Billy Flint?"

"Not knowin', I hesitate to say." Mrs. Darling's coffee had put Sam in a facetious mood.

"There was a man lookin' for him over to the store half an hour ago," said Alick, gravely.

"What d' he have, a bill or a warrant?"

"Dunno."

"I hope Billy ain't in any scrape."

"Same here."

"There ain't nothin' crooked about him."

"That's what I say, but there's lots of folks in town that'll believe anything, 'specially now he's goin' 'round with Miss Wallace some, same's I heard this mornin' he was doin'."

"She's all right, too," said Sam, enthusiastically.

"You bet," replied Alick. "Did you hear about the woman's club?"

"Some."

"What they goin' to do?"

"Well," Sam drawled, "near's I can make out, they're goin' to improve themselves, where there's room for improvement, and scatter blessin's 'round to other folks while they're doin' it. I heard that yesterday they voted ten dollars for a pink tea, and one dollar seventy-five for foreign missions, and—" Sam was interrupted by Mrs. Stout, who had approached unobserved by either of the gossipers.

"You're lyin', Sam Billin's," she called, sharply. It was evident that she had overheard Sam's remarks.

"Hello, Mis' Stout," called Sam, unabashed, as he peeked over the edge of the roof. "I hear you're a bright and shinin' light in our new club."

"Don't you let me hear of you tellin' any more such whoppers, Sam Billin's. Lies breed fast enough in this town without any extra help from you," replied Mrs. Stout, as she looked up at his grinning face, and then turning to Alick, continued, "Ain't you got anything else to do, Alick Purbeck, 'cept sit behind a big cigar and listen to that shiftless critter up there? Go 'long now, or I'll talk your case over with Peter."

Alick drove away, and Sam went to work. Mrs. Stout started on her way, but had gone only a few steps when she met Mrs. Darling returning from Mrs. Thornton's.

"Good morning, Mrs. Stout," she said, "I'm so glad to see you, aren't you out early?"

"Good land! no; I'm goin' over to see your friend Mis' Thornton about her baby. Everybody's s'posed to be foolish over their first baby, but I guess from what I heard yesterday that she's overdoin' it. She's feedin' him on samples—turns up her nose at cow's milk—and I just made up my mind that she needed a talkin' to whether she wanted it or not."

"No doubt you are right, Mrs. Stout, but—"

"Right, I know I am—such nonsense. Of course you folks that ain't had no children, and don't want any, can't be expected to—" Mrs. Stout stopped suddenly and looked up. Sam was looking and listening with the earnest attention of an incurable gossip.

"Eavesdroppin', are you?" said Mrs. Stout, contemptuously, and then turning to Mrs. Darling added, "Don't you believe one word that scallywag up there tells you. He gets his news from wash-women and servant girls."

"Well," drawled Sam, "I've noticed that what you hear at back doors is most always nearer the truth than what you hear at the front, though it ain't quite so flatterin'."