"If there is," said Mrs. Grumble, "then Thomas has more sense than I gave him credit for. Because how any one could have an understanding with that wild thing, is more than I can see." "How she carries on," agreed Miss Beal, "first with Noel, when he was alive, and now with him." "Ah," remarked Mrs. Grumble, "those are the new ideas. She has her head full of them. Only the other day, down to the store, I heard her say to Mr. Frye: 'It's the old who are always getting the young into trouble.'" "Just think of that," said Miss Beal. "To my way of thinking," continued Mrs. Grumble, "the shoe is on the other foot. What with the young folks growing up so wild, we must all be as busy as thieves to keep what belongs to us." "And what belongs to us, Mrs. Grumble?" asked the dressmaker, lifting from her lap a dress designed for Mrs. Sneath, the butcher's wife. "No more than what we can get," replied Mrs. Grumble, with a shake of her head. "And that's little enough." "Then," said Miss Beal, "what do you think Anna Barly meant by saying 'twas the old had got her into trouble?" "Why, bless your soul," said Mrs. Grumble. Miss Beal, from the front of her chair, regarded her friend with round and serious eyes. "I don't rightly know, Mrs. Grumble," she said, "but I came on her yesterday, and I declare if she hadn't been crying. Last night I dreamed old Mrs. Tomkins died. And you know, Mrs. Grumble, dream of the dead . . ." "Go away," said Mrs. Grumble. "Mind," quoth Miss Beal, "I don't mean to say there's anything as shouldn't be. Still, nothing would surprise me." "There's no use talking," cried Mrs. Grumble, "because I don't believe a word of it." But she felt it her duty to add: "For all I never saw Anna look so poorly." "A touch of influenza," answered Miss Beal, "so Sara Barly says. Lord save us: a big healthy girl like Anna." "It's the healthy ones who get it," said Mrs. Grumble with a sigh. "God moves in a mysterious way." "His wonders to perform." Mrs. Grumble arose and placed a kettle of water on the stove. "We'll have some tea," she said, "and I'll cook you some fritters. Jeminy is out. Then we'll go to the fair." "Glory," said Miss Beal. After lunch the two women put on their bonnets and went to take their seats in the Milford stage. As the wagon set out, creaking and crowded, everyone began to talk; and so, with cheeks reddened by the wind, rolled, still talking, into Milford.