"He brings 'em face to face, and he says to him, says
he, 'In the day o' the Judgment God'll mind the look o' your wife,'
and then he says the same to her."
"Singular man!" said the comely sister Lize, who now resumed her
knitting.
"He never robbed that bank, either, any more 'n I did."
"Men ain't apt to claim a sin that don't belong to 'em--that's my
opinion."
"He did it to shield another."
"Sidney Trove?" was the half-whispered query of the sister Lize.
"Trove, no!" said the other, quickly. "It was that old man with a
gray beard who never spoke to anybody an' used to visit the tinker."
She was interrupted by a newcomer--a stout woman of middle age who
fluttered in, breathing heavily, under a look of pallor and
agitation.
"Sh-h-h!" said she, lifting a large hand. She sank upon a chair,
fanning herself. She said nothing for a little, as if to give the
Recording Angel a chance to dip her pen. The customer, who was now
counting a box of beads, turned quickly, and she that was called
Lize dropped her knitting.
"What is it, Bet, for mercy's sake?" said the latter.
"Have you heard the news?" said she that was called Bet.
"Land sakes, no!" said both the others.
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