"Thirty-five years! I declare, it still makes me jump to hear about thirty-five years--just as if I hadn't known all about 'em!" and Mary Leonard laughed her comfortable laugh again. "You don't say it's thirty-five years, Lucy! I guess you're right, though." There was a moment's pause, and the laugh died away into a little sigh. "We didn't think then--we didn't really _think_--we'd ever be talking about what happened thirty-five years ago, did we, Lucy? We didn't think we'd have interest enough to care." "No," said Lucy, soberly, "we didn't." "And I care just as much as I ever did about things," went on the other, thoughtfully, "only there seem more doors for satisfaction to come in at nowadays. It isn't quite the same sort of satisfaction, perhaps, that it used to be, not so pressed down and running over, but there's more of it, after all, and it doesn't slip out so easily." "No, the bottom of things doesn't fall out at once, as it used to, and leave nothing in our empty hands." "That sounds almost sad. Don't you be melancholy, Lucy Eastman." "I'm not, Mary--I'm not a bit. I'm only remembering that I used to be." "We used to go to the well with a sieve instead of a pitcher; that's really the difference," said Mary Leonard. "We've learned not to be wasteful, that's all." "What fun we used to have," said Lucy, her eyes shining, "visiting your cousins!" "It _was_ fun!" said the other. "Do you remember the husking party at the Kendals' barn?" "Of course I do, and the red ears that that Chickering girl was always finding! I think she picked them out on purpose, so that Tom Endover would kiss her. It was just like those Chickerings!" There was a gentle venom in Lucy Eastman's tones that made Mary Leonard laugh till the tears came into her eyes. "Minnie Chickering wasn't the only girl that Tom Endover kissed, if I remember right," she said, with covert intention. "Well, he put the red ear into my hands himself, and I just husked it without thinking anything about it," retorted Lucy Eastman, with spirit. "Of course you did, of course you did," asseverated Mary Leonard, whereupon the other laughed too, but with reservation. "And do you remember old Miss Pinsett's, where we used to go to act charades?" "Yes, indeed, in the old white house at the foot of the hill, with a cupola. She seemed so old; I wonder how old she was?" "Perhaps we shouldn't think her so old to-day. People used to wear caps earlier then than they do now. I think when they were disappointed in love they put on caps! Miss Pinsett had been disappointed in love, so they said." "They will have old maids disappointed in love," said Lucy, with some asperity. "They will have me--some people--and I never was." "I know you weren't. But I don't think it's as usual as it was to say that about old maids. It's more the fashion now to be disappointed in marriage."