I 've lived 'n' I 've loved, as the books say; 'n' I 've
survived, as I say myself; 'n' you can believe me or not, jus' as you
please, Mrs. Lathrop, but I ain't got no feelin' toward you this night
but pity. I would n't be you if I could--not now 'n' not never. I 'd
really liefer be the deacon, 'n' Heaven knows 't he 's got little enough
to look forward to hereafter."
"I--" expostulated Mrs. Lathrop.
"Well, Mrs. Lathrop, if you keep me here much longer, I sha'n't get
down-town this afternoon; 'n' when you think how near Mrs. Jilkins 's
comin' to bein' related to you, it certainly will look very strange to
the community."
As she spoke, Miss Clegg rapidly prepared herself for the street, and
with the last words she went toward the door.
"If the deacon gets here afore I come back," she said, pausing with her
hand on the knob, "you 'd better say 's what he told me yesterday in
confidence 'n' what I told him in consequence is still a secret; it 'll
be pleasanter for you both so."
"I--" said Mrs, Lathrop.
"Good-by," said Susan.
Mrs. Lathrop slept some that afternoon and rocked more. She experienced
no very marked flutterings in the region of her heart; indeed, she was
astonished herself at the calmness of her sensations.
The deacon had not come when Susan returned. Susan looked somewhat
puzzled.
"Anybody been here since me?" she inquired, not facing her friend, but
examining the stovepipe with interest.
"No; no--"
"Mrs. Jilkins is all safe," she said next.
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