“Mrs. Bangs,” said the schoolmistress, as if it was the most casual thing in the world, “I want to borrow your husband to-morrow.” It was Friday evening, and supper at the perfect boarding house had advanced as far as the stewed prunes and fruit-cake stage. Keturah, who was carefully dealing out the prunes, exactly four to each saucer, stopped short, spoon in air, and gazed at Miss Dawes. “You--you want to WHAT?” she asked. “I want to borrow your husband. I want him all day, too, because I'm thinking of driving over to Trumet, and I need a coachman. You'll go, won't you, Mr. Bangs?” Bailey, who had been considering the advisability of asking for a second cup of tea, brightened up and looked pleased. “Why, yes,” he answered, “I'll go. I can go just as well as not. Fact is, I'd like to. Ain't been to Trumet I don't know when.” Miss Phinney and the widow Tripp looked at each other. Then they both looked at Keturah. That lady's mouth closed tightly, and she resumed her prune distribution. “I'm sorry,” she said crisply, “but I'm 'fraid he can't go. It's Saturday, and I'll need him round the house. Do you care for cake to-night, Elviry? I'm 'fraid it's pretty dry; I ain't had time to do much bakin' this week.” “Of course,” continued the smiling Phoebe, “I shouldn't think of asking him to go for nothing. I didn't mean borrow him in just that way. I was thinking of hiring your horse and buggy, and, as I'm not used to driving, I thought perhaps I might engage Mr. Bangs to drive for me. I expected to pay for the privilege. But, as you need him, I suppose I must get my rig and driver somewhere else. I'm so sorry.” The landlady's expression changed. This was the dull season, and opportunities to “let” the family steed and buggy--“horse and team,” we call it in Bayport--were few. “Well,” she observed, “I don't want to be unlikely and disobligin'. Far's he's concerned, he'd rather be traipsin' round the country than stay to home, any day; though it's been so long sence he took ME to ride that I don't know's I'd know how to act.” “Why, Ketury!” protested her husband. “How you talk! Didn't I drive you down to the graveyard only last Sunday--or the Sunday afore?” “Graveyard! Yes, I notice our rides always fetch up at the graveyard. You're always willin' to take me THERE. Seems sometimes as if you enjoyed doin' it.” “Now, Keturah! you know yourself that 'twas you proposed goin' there. You said you wanted to look at our lot, 'cause you was afraid 'twan't big enough, and you didn't know but we'd ought to add on another piece. You said that it kept you awake nights worryin' for fear when I passed away you wouldn't have room in that lot for me. Land sakes! don't I remember? Didn't you give me the blue creeps talkin' about it?” Mrs. Bangs ignored this outburst. Turning to the school teacher, she said with a sigh: “Well, I guess he can go. I'll get along somehow. I hope he'll be careful of the buggy; we had it painted only last January.”