"An' that ain't all," resumed Nathan, after a pause for breath. "Jim can't go hoein' nor diggin' but she'll foller him an' tell 'bout the bugs an' worms he turns up,--how many legs they've got, an' all that. An' the moon ain't jest a moon no more, an' the stars ain't stars. They're sp'eres an' planets with heathenish names an' rings an' orbits. Jim feels bad--powerful bad--'bout it, an' he says he can't see no way out of it. He knows they hain't had much schooling any of 'em, only Katy, an' he says that sometimes he 'most wishes that--that she hadn't, neither." Nathan Kelsey's voice had sunk almost to a whisper, and with the last words his eyes sent a furtive glance toward the stoop-shouldered little figure in the low rocker. The chair was motionless now, and its occupant sat picking at a loose thread in the gingham apron. "I--I wouldn't 'a' spoke of it," stammered the man, with painful hesitation, "only--well, ye see, I--you-" he stopped helplessly. "I know," faltered the little woman. "You was thinkin' of--Alma." "She wouldn't do it--Alma wouldn't!" retorted the man sharply, almost before his wife had ceased speaking. "No, no, of course not; but--Nathan, ye _don't_ think Alma'd ever be--_ashamed_ of us, do ye?" "'Course not!" asserted Nathan, but his voice shook. "Don't ye worry, Mary," he comforted. "Alma ain't a-goin' ter do no kerrectin' of us." "Nathan, I--I think that's 'co-rectin','" suggested the woman, a little breathlessly. The man turned and gazed at his wife without speaking. Then his jaw fell. "Well, by sugar, Mary! _You_ ain't a-goin' ter begin it, be ye?" he demanded. "Why, no, 'course not!" she laughed confusedly. "An'--an' Alma wouldn't." "'Course Alma wouldn't," echoed her husband. "Come, it's time ter shut up the house." The date of Alma's expected arrival was yet a week ahead. As the days passed, there came a curious restlessness to the movements of both Nathan and his wife. It was on the last night of that week of waiting that Mrs. Kelsey spoke. "Nathan," she began, with forced courage, "I've been over to Mis' Hopkins's--an' asked her what special things 'twas that Katy set such store by. I thought mebbe if we knew 'em beforehand, an' could do 'em, an'--" "That's jest what I asked Jim ter-day, Mary," cut in Nathan excitedly. "Nathan, you didn't, now! Oh, I'm so glad! An' we'll do 'em, won't we?--jest ter please her?" "'Course we will!" "Ye see it's four years since she was here, Nathan, what with her teachin' summers." "Sugar, now! Is it? It hain't seemed so long." "Nathan," interposed Mrs. Kelsey, anxiously, "I think that 'hain't' ain't--I mean _aren't_ right. I think you'd orter say, 'It haven't seemed so long.'" The man frowned, and made an impatient gesture. "Yes, yes, I know," soothed his wife; "but,--well, we might jest as well begin now an' git used to it. Mis' Hopkins said that them two words, 'hain't an' 'ain't, was what Katy hated most of anythin'."