Mrs. Lathrop had been dumbfounded to see a horse and wagon being driven into her neighbor's yard a little before noon one warm spring day. Her eyesight was not good enough to identify the horse's driver, but she hung breathlessly in her kitchen window and peered gaspingly out upon his boldness and daring during the whole four minutes that it took him to hitch to a clothes-pole; and then, when the fell deed was accomplished, she watched him go in by the kitchen door, and waited, with a confidence born of a very good understanding of her neighbor's views as to driving in and hitching, to see him cast ignominiously forth by Miss Clegg.

But even that omniscience of a friend's habits which may be acquired during a next-door residence for years sometimes fails, and Mrs. Lathrop, after an hour of more or less active bobbing in the window that commanded the best view of the rear of the house on the other side of the fence, was forced to see that the caller, whoever he might be, was not cast forth, and a further hour's attention showed that he did not quit the premises either just before or just after dinner. When Mrs. Lathrop had quite settled the last point to her complete satisfaction and un-understanding, she decided to give up watching and to go to sleep as usual. She slept until four in the afternoon, and when she awoke and hurried to the window the horse and wagon were gone. Susan seemed gone too, for her house looked very shut up and sounded more than silent. So Mrs. Lathrop went back forthwith to her chair and slept again, and the next time she awakened it was her friend's voice that awakened her, as the latter stood over her and demanded briskly,

"Well, did you see him?"

"I—oh—oh—I—" began Mrs. Lathrop, vaguely.

"I thought you could n't but see him," said Susan, "hitchin' his horse to one o' my clothes-poles as large as life. If it 'd been any day in his life but this one I 'd surely of told him frank 'n' open my views on hitchin' to my clothes-poles, but bein' as it was to-day I only told him my views on drivin' over my grass."

"But—" began Mrs. Lathrop.

"The horse did n't bite the pole," continued Susan; "he said as he wa'n't no cribber. I told him it wa'n't cribs as was the question, but clothes-poles, an' I might of spoken some stronger, but just then he stepped on the edge of the cistern cover 'n' I got such a turn as drove everythin' else clean out o' my mind. You know how easy it is to turn that cover, Mrs. Lathrop, 'n' I must say that if he and it had fell in together there'd have been a fine tale to tell, for the cover always sinks straight to the bottom, 'n' is no joke to find 'n' fish up,—you and I both know that. Ever since the brace give way I 've always got it on my mind to keep the clothes-bars sittin' over it, but now the brace in the clothes-bars is give way too 'n' as a consequence they won't sit over nothin' no more. If money was looser I 'd certainly never spare it gettin' them two braces mended, but money bein' tight and me alone in the house 'n' the most of my callers them as it 's all one to me whether I see 'em in the parlor or in the cistern, I ain't botherin'. I was never one to worry an' scurry unnecessarily, Mrs. Lathrop, an' you know that as well as I do, 'n' to-day I had my mind all done up in my curtains anyway, 'n' I was more'n' a little put out over bein' interrupted, even by a man as come in through the woodshed door, that I never bolt 'cause it 's a understood thing as woodshed doors is not to be come in at. The turn he give me when I hear him clutterin' aroun' in the woodshed!—I thought he was rats, an' then a cat, an' then a rat an' a cat come together, an' then all of a sudden I see him an' remembered the cistern cover."

"But who—" asked Mrs. Lathrop.

Susan looked surprised.

"Why, I thought you said you seen him," she said; "you certainly give me that impression, Mrs. Lathrop. I 'd have took any vow anywhere as I asked you if you seen him 'n' you said you did. It's funny if you did n't for he drove hisself in 'n' hitched hisself too, 'n' me up in the garret when he done it, foldin' off my curtains to iron. My, to think how I did hate the idea o' ironin' them curtains! Mother always ironed the curtains. She said I was young n' she did n't mind anyhow. I ain't washed 'em since. I 've been in the habit o' sayin' I was afraid it'd bring mother over me too much to take 'em down without her. That 's a thing as this community can easy understand, f'r they leave all their hard work layin' around for any reason a tall, and although I can't in reason deny as in most ways they 're as different from me as anything can be from me, still when it comes to ironin' curtains the stove is as hot on the just as on the unjust 'n' you can't mention nothin' hotter."

"Did you—" said Mrs. Lathrop, sympathetically.

"Well, I sh'd say I did. What I set out to do I always do whether it's curtains or Mr. Kimball. Mr. Kimball has got a great idea as to his sharpness, but I guess if our sharp ends was under a microscope, he 'd be the needle an' me the bee-sting most every day. It was too bad you was n't to that lecture, Mrs. Lathrop,—I did learn a great deal. Not just about the sting, but some very handy things. It seems if you go among 'em quietly, they 'll let you take the honey out any time 'n' you can buy the queens by mail in a box 'n' they 'll lay a whole hive alone by themselves in no time. Mrs. Macy said she thought some of sendin' for one or two queens 'n' settin' 'em up in business in bushel baskets, but when she went home 'n' looked the baskets over 'n' thought what work it'd be to clean the honey out of 'em each fall she give up the idea. She's going to set out a orange tree in a flower pot instead. It says in the 'Ladies' Home Diary' as they grow very nicely so."

"But who—" interrupted Mrs. Lathrop, wrinkling up her face somewhat over the long strain on her eager attentiveness.

"But I thought you said you seen him," said her friend, with a second recurrence of her surprised expression; "did n't you see him when you see him drivin' in? He was holdin' the reins at the big end o' the whip, I should suppose. I can't well see how you saw everythin' else without seein' him. He was some better dressed 'n' usual but it just shows what bein' left a widower does for a man. It seems to somehow put new spirit in 'em 'n' sets 'em to wearin' ties again. Why, do you know when he come to go he actually asked me to ride a piece with him 'n' show him which finger-post to turn in to, an' I will say as, where I would n't of dreamed o' ridin' with him a week ago, I went to-day an' really enjoyed it. Yes, I did."

"Was it—" cried Mrs. Lathrop, with a sudden gleam of intuition.

Susan looked surprised for the third time.

"Why, of course," she said, "who else could it be?" Then she left her position near the door, came over nearer to her friend, took a chair and began to untie her bonnet.

"I don't know as I 'm surprised over your bein' surprised, Mrs. Lathrop," she continued in a slightly milder tone after a brief pause for vocal renovation. "I will confess as I was really nothin' but surprised myself. I supposed as a matter o' course that to-day he was in Meadville buryin' her, 'n' when I first see him the funeral was so strong in my mind as I thought he'd druv over to maybe borrow father's black bow for his front door. I made my mind right up to tell him straight to his face as he couldn't have it, for I told you once as I was keepin' that bow for you, Mrs. Lathrop, an' when I promise anybody anythin' I keep my word, whether it's a receipt or a bow for their own funeral, an' when I saw old man Ely it didn't take me no two minutes to keep my word the same as ever,—'n' father's black bow too. But laws, he was n't after no bow!—I very quickly found out as all as he was after was the funeral, f'r it seems as they was uncommonly spry with it. He told me right off as they had it pretty prompt too, for he says when it comes to buryin' a wife there 's no need for a man to go slow, 'n' so he had all Meadville up with the lark 'n' out after old Mrs. Ely. He seemed to feel all of a sudden as it was a little awkward me not havin' been there, but I saw how he felt 'n' made his mind easy by tellin' him frank 'n' open that it was n't nothin' agin his wife as kept me here, for when it come right square down to it I did n't know any one as I 'd enjoy their funeral more 'n gettin' my curtains ironed; an' I may in truth repeat to you as that 's so, Mrs. Lathrop, for although it may seem hard at first hearin', still we both know what it is to iron curtains, 'n' my motto always is as a live lion has rights above a dead dog, and the proverb says as the dead is always ready to bury the dead anyhow. Old man Ely seemed to look on it much as I did, for he did n't fiddle about none with his affairs, but came right to the point an' told me fair an' square as, not havin' anythin' particular on hand after it was over, an' seein' clear as he was three miles out of his way anyhow, he 'd thought he 'd come on as far as Pete Sanderson's 'n' see about a cow as he 'd heard Pete had, 'n' then after that it looked to him like it was pretty much a day for odd jobs straight through, so he come over here to get some graftin's from our grape-vine. He said as father 'd told him once as he could have some graftin's from the porch-vine if he 'd come and cut 'em, 'n' so he was come. I told him as when it was n't nothin' more important than grape-vines father's words was ever my laws; so he went out 'n' cut some pieces from the Virginia creeper an' come in perfectly satisfied, 'n' I may in confidence remark as I was satisfied too for I was n't overpleased to have him meddlin' with the porch-vine. I will remark, though, as his cuttin' Virginia creeper for grape-vines did amuse me some, for it's been a well-known fact for years as Mrs. Ely was Mr. Ely in everythin' but the clothes he wore, 'n' they say the way she managed to figger-head him through plantin' 'n' harvest, 'n' pasture 'n' punkins, was nothin' short of genius, bred in the bone 'n' bustin' out every seam.

"Howsomesoever, he stayed 'n' stayed 'n' I ironed 'n' ironed, 'n' we talked about the farm 'n' father 'n' how well he remembered father 'n' what a good daughter I was 'n' what a good wife Mrs. Ely was 'n' how well he was goin' to bear it, 'n' I begun to wonder when he was intendin' to go or whether he was thinkin' of stayin' all day, 'n' at last there was nothin' but to ask him to dinner, 'n' I was n't intendin' to have no dinner on a'count o' the curtains. It's a very hard thing, Mrs. Lathrop, when you're not intendin' to have dinner to have to invite company for it, but there did n't seem no way to help it. I could n't in decency more than mention as Mrs. Brown was to home an' I knowed as the Fishers was give to Irish stew on Tuesdays, but no, sir, there he sat like a bump on a log 'n' in the hind end I could n't but ask him to stay 'n' have just cold pork 'n' beans on a'count o' the funeral. 'N' so he stayed. I set my irons back with a heavy heart 'n' said it seemed like some days misfortunes never come single, for I 'd already seen a water-bug in the kitchen that very mornin'; but he seemed to have decided to be thick-skinned, so I put on the tea-kettle 'n' brought out the pork 'n' beans 'n' we sat down to eat."

"Was—" asked Mrs. Lathrop.

"Well, I should think he was," replied Susan. "I never see such a appetite. He eat pork 'n' beans like he thought they was twins off a vine, 'n' I had to finally get up 'n' clear away to save any a tall. I set the tea-kettle by him 'n' told him to end by havin' all the tea he wanted to pour through the leaves by himself, 'n' I went back to my ironin'. He sat there 'n' drank tea very happy for a long spell. Seemed like it sort o' thawed him out, 'n' finally he begin to talk about her, 'n' once he got started on that he never quit. I ironed curtains 'n' listened 'n' let him talk. It was n't long afore he begin to show the disadvantages o' bein' dead, for he said as he was always the practical one of them both, 'n' he'd never have dared say that with old Mrs. Ely on top of the earth. I was amused at his sayin' it anyhow, with the Virginia creeper graftin's there in a tomato-can bearin' witness agin him, but I didn't say nothin'. He asked me if I'd believe as she was really a very fair-lookin' girl when they was married. I couldn't but stop at that 'n' ask him if it was ever possible as her nose was ever any different, 'n' he had to say 'No, not any different;' 'n' I can assure you as he set 'n' rubbed his chin with his hand a long time afterwards 'n' then drew a big breath 'n' said 'No, not any different.' I felt to respect his feelin's 'n' did n't say nothin', 'n' after a while he went on an' said that they was very happy married on the whole, 'n' then he rubbed his chin with his hand a nother long while 'n' said over again 'on the whole.' He asked me then if I ever heard how he came to marry her first 'n' I said as I always hear as it was to get the farm. He kind of flared up at that 'n' said there never was nothin' agin her but her nose, 'n' at that I took a fresh iron 'n' said he asked me a plain question 'n' I give him a plain answer, which, considerin' his horse 'n' my clothes-pole 'n' her nose, was all as could in reason be expected of me. He softened down at that 'n' said as he was n't by no means meanin' to make light of his dead wife's nose, 'n' I said as, speakin' o' Mrs. Ely's nose bein' the one thing agin' her, it was the joy of every other person as met her as it was agin her 'n' not agin them, for it was a well-known fact as Mr. Kimball had said hunderds of times as if he had that nose an' leaned over a bridge 'n' see it in the water he 'd be willin' to let it overbalance him then 'n' there 'n' be drowned forever. He got pretty meek at that, for it showed as I was in earnest, 'n' he went on to say as it was large, but he said as afore she took to that way of kind o' shrinkin' back of it it did n't look so large, 'n' anyway she was his married 'n' buried wife. I told him I was certainly glad to know that, seein' as they 'd lived together so many years, 'n' then he said it 'd really be nothin' but a joy to him to tell me how he come to marry her, so I said I 'd listen 'n' welcome 'n' he started in.

"I must say this, Mrs. Lathrop, 'n' that is that I soon see as it was lucky as I was n't feelin' no special call to talk any myself, for he set out in a most steady sort of a discouragin' down-pour, kind of cross-your-legs 'n' clear-your-throat, 'n' I see as I was in for it 'n' just let him pour, for feelin's catches us all ways 'n' whatever he felt about old Mrs. Ely it was plain as some one had got to hear it to the last drop. So I let him drop away, 'n' I will in all fairness say, as a more steady spout I never see no one under. He never seemed to consider as how me or any one might perhaps enjoy to maybe make a remark from time to time, 'n' even when he ain't talkin' he 's got that way o' rubbin' his chin as makes it seem most impolite to bu'st in on. I didn't care much, though, 'cause I had the curtains, 'n' besides I may in confidence state as when I really felt to speak I sailed right in anyhow 'n' spoke what I wanted to. For I never was one to sit by 'n' have my tail calmly trod on, as you 'n' a great many others knows to your cost, Mrs. Lathrop, 'n' then, too, each time when I see as he was nigh to tippin' into the cistern it was really nothin' but a joy to him to know it in time to hitch away."

"Did—" said Mrs. Lathrop.

"In the first place," said Susan, "he asked me if I 'd mind his smokin' his pipe, 'n' I told him I most certainly would, so that ended that subjeck right up square at the beginnin'. Then he said he 'd been married nigh on to forty years 'n' I told him to look out for the cistern 'n' he hitched along a piece 'n' begin again. 'N' then he seemed set a-goin' for keeps.

"Seems, Mrs. Lathrop, as he never had no family, but he says he was a very handsome young fellow for all that. I looked pretty hard at him, but he stuck to it 'n' I let it go. He went on to say as he growed up anyhow 'n' drifted to Meadville when he was long about twenty-four, 'n' went on to the Pearson farm. Oh, my, but he says that was a stony farm! I tell you but he rubbed his chin with his hand a long while afore he said all over again, 'but that was a stony farm!' An' the gophers!—Well, he says whatever the Recordin' Angel has got down he bets he's skipped some o' them gophers. He says the hairs on your head is a mere joy to reckon up, 'n' fallin' sparrows too, beside them gophers. He says savin' a cent in the time o' Egypt 'n' seein' what you 'd have now if you 'd only done it, is nothin' to the way them gophers on the Pearson farm was give to givin' in marriage. He says as it was a very stony farm, 'n' in between every two stones was one hole 'n' half a dozen gophers to a hole, in the single season. He says ploughin' was like churnin' with nothin' but stones 'n' gophers in the churn. He says they was that tame they'd run up your legs 'n' up the horses' legs; he said maybe I would n't believe it, 'n' I told him I certainly would n't, so then he went on to another subjeck.

"He says he used to plough through them gophers all day 'n' court Tilly all night. Tilly was old Mrs. Ely. He says she 'd never been courted on a'count of her nose, but he said he wanted a farm bad enough to be willin' to never forget to tip his face pretty well crossways. He says she was so happy bein' courted that at first it made the gophers just seem like nothin' a tall, 'n' he says as you can't maybe get the full sense o' that but it's there just the same. I tell you, Mrs. Lathrop, you can see that man has suffered. I asked him was he afraid of mice too, 'n' he bristled up pretty sharp 'n' said he wa'n't afraid of gophers, only they took you so unawares. I had to tell him right there to look out for the cistern lid, 'n' he hitched over by the table again 'n' then he said, Well, so it went all summer. He said he got so tired o' gophers, 'n' moonlight, 'n' hittin' her nose hard by accident, times when he was n't thinkin', as he was nothin' but glad when September come 'round. He says he 'd figgered all along on bein' married in September, 'n' he never for one moment mistrusted as he wouldn't be; but he says of all the awful things to count on, Tilly Pearson was the worst. Oh! my, he says, but she was cranky! 'n' then he rubbed his chin with his hand a long while 'n' then said 'cranky,' over again in a very hard tone. He says would you believe it that after all his love-makin' along the first o' September she begin to get terrible uppish 'n' throw her head aroun' 'n' put on airs 'n' he was just dumbfounded at her goin's on."

"What—" asked Mrs. Lathrop.

"Then he says one awful day when he was stackin' straw, Old Pearson told him flat 'n' plain as if he was n't goin' to marry Tilly, he need n't count on spendin' the winter as their company. Well, he says you can maybe realize what a shock that was. He says his nose was just smashed numb 'n' his sleep was full o' grabbin' at 'em in his dreams 'n' now it looked like all was for nothin' a tall. Still he says he scraped up a smile 'n' a cheerful look 'n' told Old Pearson as he was more 'n willin' to marry Tilly for his winter's board but it was Tilly as was makin' the trouble. He says Old Pearson looked sort of surprised at that, but he thought a little while 'n' then he told him as if he was smart he 'd find a way to bring Tilly to her senses, 'cause every woman had some way to be brought to her senses, 'n' then he went off 'n' left him to think.

"Well, Mrs. Lathrop, you can see without any tryin' that that man suffered. I pretty near stopped 'n' burnt jus' to listen to him. He says as he sit there plum beside hisself 'n' most cried from not knowin' what under Heaven's name to do. He says he was placed most awful with winter starin' him stark in the face 'n' no warm place to stay. He says nobody knows how it feels to feel like he was forced to feel,—'nless they've been expectin' to be married 'n' then been discharged themselves instead. He says he looked about most doleful 'n' wished he was dead or anythin' that's warm, 'n' then he got down from the stack 'n' set on a old wagon tongue 'n' jus' tried to figger on if there was n't no way as he could think up as would make Tilly have him. He says the bitter part was to reflect as he had to work to make Tilly have him, when it 'd really ought by all rights to have been the other way. He says to think o' that nose 'n' then him obliged to work 'n' slave to get hold of it!"

"I—" began Mrs. Lathrop.

"Well, he see it different," said Susan; "he says,—'n' I can't in reason see how any one as knows as little as you, Mrs. Lathrop, can deny him,—he says as no one as gets married easy at the end of courtin' can possibly figger on the difficulties of gettin' married hard. He says it was jus' beyond belief the way he felt as he set there reflectin' on his wasted summer 'n' Tilly flippin' aroun' all unconcerned over him leavin' in the end. He says his blood begun to slowly begin to boil as he set there thinkin', 'n' in the end he jus' up an' hit the wagon-tongue with his fist 'n' said 'By Jinks!' 'n' he says when he says 'By Jinks,' it is the end, 'n' don't you forget it.

"He says he 'd no sooner said 'By Jinks' than he thought of a plan, 'n' he says Lord forgive him if he ever thinks of such another plan. He says what put it into his head Heaven only knows, only o' course he never expected as it would work out as it did. He says he thought as she 'd see what he was up to 'n' stop him along half-way. But Oh, my, he says, you never can count on a woman, 'n' then he rubbed his chin with his hand for a long time 'n' said all over again 'never can count on a woman.'

"Well, he says after he'd thought o' the plan he went right to work to carry it out. He says it was one o' them plans as dilly-dally is death on. So he begun by makin' sure as she was pastin' labels on pickle-jars in the back wood-house 'n' then he went out by the shed 'n' got some old clothes-line as was hangin' there 'n' come round to where the bingin'-pole was 'n' whittled notches in it 'n' tied a piece o' the line hard aroun' the end. He says all the time he was tyin' he was countin' on her runnin' right out 'n' askin' him what under the sun he was doin',—but she never budged."

"What—" asked Mrs. Lathrop.

"Well, if you 'll keep still 'n' let me talk I 'll tell you," said Miss Clegg; "I had to keep still while he told me, 'n' the Bible 's authority for sayin' as what man has done woman can always do too if she has a mind to.—Well, he says then he bent the end of the pole around 'n' tied it hard to one of the uprights of the shed so it was sprung around in a terrible dangerous manner 'n' he says when he got it all tied, he looked up at the window 'n' why she did n't come out he can't to this day see. But she did n't—just stayed bobbin' around over her labels 'n' pastin'. Well, he says o' course he wa'n't in no hurry to go on to next part, so he dragged the grin'stone out in plain view of her 'n' begun 'n' sharpened a hatchet most awful sharp. He thought as the hatchet would bring her anyhow, but still she did n't come out,—jus' stuck to her stickin' there in the window. I can't well see why he looked for her to come out because my view would be as if you did n't want a man aroun', the more ropes an' hatchets he was inclined to the more I 'd let him tie 'n' sharpen, but old Mrs. Ely was always another parts o' speech from me. She never could eat her own chickens, they say, nor sausage her own pigs, 'n' I s'pose he knowed her tender spots aforehand 'n' was layin' for 'em. Anyhow, to go back to him 'n' the grin'stone, he says you can't under no circumstances keep on sharpenin' a hatchet forever, 'n' so after a while he had to go on to the next part. He says he was beginnin' to feel kind o' shaky, but he took more line 'n' made a slip-noose 'n' tied it hard 'n' fast to the pole. He says he looked up real bright 'n' hopeful then, but still she did n't come out, 'n' he says he slid it up over his arm two or three times so she could n't but see as it was a noose too. Oh, my, but he says he did begin to feel mad at her then,—he says it wa'n't in reason as any man 'd be pleased at a woman's smilin' out of a window at him fixin' a noose in plain sight. He says he 'll leave it to any one dead or alive to get into his skin 'n' enjoy the way he was beginnin' to feel, but o' course he had to keep on with his plan, 'n' he says next he laid the hatchet handy an' set down (Oh, my, but he says the ground sent up a cold chill up his back!) 'n' tied his feet to the other upright. Well, he says that foot-tyin' was no joke, for he says he must of took fifteen minutes to it, for he was jus' about wild by this time, not knowin' what he would do if she did n't come out now. He says no one knows what it is to begin a thing as you count on surely havin' stopped 'n' then not be stopped a tall. He says as the sentiments as he begun to get was too awful for any ordinary words 'n' he would scorn to use the words as could describe 'em even if he knowed any such. Well, he says, at last, when he was through tyin' his feet, he turned 'n' looked at the window 'n' if she wa'n't gone to put up the jars, so he had no choice but to sit there on that cold ground 'n' wait for her to come back. He said he hoped I 'd never know what his feelin's was as he waited 'n' then he rubbed his chin with his hand a long time 'n' said all over again, 'as he waited.' I told him it was n't likely as I would, 'n' to look out for the cistern or he 'd know new feelin's 'n' a new kind of waitin', so he had to hitch back by the table again 'n' then he took a long breath before goin' on to the next part.

"Well, Mrs. Lathrop, he says when she come back from puttin' up the jars he jus' could n't but feel as his hour was surely come. He says how he ever done it he never has seen since, but he took up that noose 'n' put it over his head. He says as he did so he took a quick look at the window 'n' seen her lookin', 'n' he says he jus' hoped surely she 'd give a scream now 'n' come runnin' out the kitchen-door. But he says she 'd disappointed him so often his heart was like lead, 'n he felt bluer 'n he 's ever felt any other time in his life. He says he fixed the noose all smooth around his neck for five minutes or so, 'n' then there was nothin' in the wide world left for him to do but to take up that awful sharp hatchet.

"Well, Mrs. Lathrop, I vow I was interested in spite of myself. His voice shook 'n' his hands too jus' with rememberin'. I really felt to pity him—I did. He says he lifted the hatchet 'n' looked at the window tryin' to hope fully 'n' securely as this time she 'd surely come out screamin' 'n' runnin'. 'N' she never screamed 'n' she never run! Oh, my, but he says he was tremblin' from head to foot 'n' the cold sweat jus' poured over him. He says he took up the hatchet 'n' held it quiverin' in his quiverin' hand, 'n' then he made a weak hack at the rope as tied the pole to the upright. He says he see her nose in the window as he hacked 'n' then he says no words can ever describe his feelin's when he suddenly learned as he 'd cut the rope!—He says he never had no more idea o' hittin' the rope than he had o' hangin' himself, 'n' he said when he very quickly felt as he 'd done both nothin' can properly explain him!—He says the newspapers don't have no idea a tall of how it feels or they 'd never print it so cool 'n' calm. He says cuttin' the rope let the pole loose 'n' the noose ran up on him 'n' choked him most terrible. My gracious, he says but carbolic acid 'n' Rough on Rats is child's play beside that grip on your throat. He says he never will forget how it felt, not if he lives to be Methusalem's great-grandfather. He says he got a most awful jerk from his head to his heels too as nigh to broke his ankles, 'n' a twist in his wrist from the weight o' the hatchet, but he said he did n't have no time to take no a'count o' nothin' just then but the way everythin' turned red 'n' black 'n' run into his ears."

"Did it kill—" cried Mrs. Lathrop, much excited.

"I 'm goin' to tell you.—He says the last thing he knowed was Tilly's shriek. O' course when he cut the rope she seen he 'd meant it all, 'n' so she grabbed up a carvin' knife 'n' yelled to her father 'n' run. Old man Ely says it was good she run, for there was n't a minute to lose. Old Pearson run too from where he was in the barn but Tilly got there first. She didn't lose one second in sawin' him free at both ends 'n' he says he was so nigh to dead that first he thought she was a gopher, 'n' then an angel. Oh, my, but he says he was dizzy at first, 'n' faint, 'n' queer in his ears. He sat 'n' thought about it all by himself for a long while this mornin' afore he went on again. He says no one ever realizes how close they are to eternity unless they accidentally go 'n' do suthin' so darn foolish as that.

"Well, he says, after a while, after a long, long while, he felt to get to the house, 'n' then, he says, come one o' the strangest parts o' the story—the part as shows how everythin' turns out for the best in the end. He says it's really most like a fairy-tale, 'n' jus' as if he 'd planned it all to order. Seems when he tried to get up 'n' walk to the house Tilly wanted her father to help hold up his other side, 'n' she could n't see where her father was. She started aroun' the shed to look for him 'n' there she found him stretched out flat.—Seems when she cut Ely loose she let the pole fly roun' jus' in time to take her father in the legs 'n' there he laid, not dead, but in a way as showed right off as some one else 'd have to run his farm from then on. Well, old man Ely says you need n't tell him as there ain't no All-wise Providence after that, 'n' he rubbed his chin with his hand a long, long while 'n' shook his head 'n' then said 'need n't tell him' all over again. He says he joined the church the very next Sunday 'n' him 'n' Tilly was married in September like he 'd always planned. He says they was very happy on the whole 'n' after a while Old Pearson got where he got around pretty well, only for a crazy idea he had as suthin' unexpected was goin' to hit him sudden. He says he had the idea so strong as he never was free from it while he was alive 'n' it was a mercy when he died. He says as he see how good things can turn out, for, Tilly always jus' loved him half to death 'cause he 'd loved her enough to cut that rope in two. He says he means her to have a very handsome monument, 'n' if he ever marries again he shall keep her picture in the parlor just the same."

"Do—" said Mrs. Lathrop.

"Well, I think he 'll try to," said Miss Clegg, "but his other wife may not see it in the same spirit, Mrs. Ely not bein' no great ornament, 'n' the farm is safe now anyhow."

"I—" said Mrs. Lathrop, further.

"Yes," said Susan, "I thought so myself but it did n't seem to strike him that way."