“But, Mrs. Beasley,” put in the schoolmistress, “why couldn't you give us a note to Mrs. Atwood and let us stop for the diary on our way home? I could return it to you by mail. Or you might get it yourself some other day and mail it to me.” “No, no! Never put off till to-morrer what you can do to-day. My husband was a great hand to put off and put off. For the last eight years of his life I was at him to buy a new go-to-meetin' suit of clothes. The one he had was blue to start with, but it faded to a brown, and, toward the last of it, I declare if it didn't commence to turn green. Nothin' I could say would make him heave it away even then. Seemed to think more of it than ever. Said he wanted to hang to it a spell and see what 'twould turn next. But he died and was laid out in that same suit, and I was so mortified at the funeral I couldn't think of nothin' else. No, I'll go after them papers and the diary while they're fresh in my mind. And besides, do you s'pose I'd let Sarah Ann Atwood rummage through my trunks? I guess not!” Phoebe began to be sorry she had thought of sending for the diary, particularly as the chance of its containing valuable information was so remote. Mrs. Beasley went into the house to dress for the ride. The schoolmistress went with her as far as the sitting room. The perturbed Bailey stalked off, muttering, to the blacksmith's. In a little while he returned, leading Henry by the bridle. Debby, adorned with the beflowered bonnet she had worn when she arrived at the Cy Whittaker place, and with a black cloth cape over her lean shoulders, was waiting for him by the open door of the barn. The cape had a fur collar--“cat fur,” so Mr. Bangs said afterwards in describing it. “Pull the sulky right out,” commanded the widow. Bailey stared into the black interior of the barn. “Which is it?” he shouted. Mrs. Beasley pointed with her ear trumpet. “Why, that one there, of course. 'Tother's a truck cart. You wouldn't expect me to ride in that, would you?” Mr. Bangs entered the barn, seized the vehicle indicated by the shafts, and drew it out into the yard. He inspected it deliberately, and then sat weakly down on the chopping block near by. Apparently he was overcome by emotion. The “sulky” bequeathed by the late doctor had been built to order for its former owner. It was of the “carryall” variety, except that it had but a single narrow seat. Its top was square and was curtained, the curtains being tightly buttoned down. Altogether it was something of a curiosity. Miss Dawes, who had come out to see the start, looked at the “sulky,” then at Mr. Bangs's face, and turned her back. Her shoulders shook: “It used to be a real nice carriage when Ezra had it,” commented the widow admiringly. “It needs ilin' and sprucin' up now, but I guess 'twill do. Come!” to Bailey, who had not risen from the chopping block. “Hurry up and harness or we'll never get started. Thought you wanted to get back for dinner?”