“Well, I will say one thing for you, you always look s’ nice,” Mrs. Anderson approved her, as they emerged from Julie’s side door and set out together along the village street. “I never seen you when you didn’t look like you’d stepped right out of a bandbox. That’s a mighty cute little collar you got on, dearie,” she continued, fingering the delicate ruffles at Julie’s neck. Julie was constantly at the mercy of other women’s hands. Her smallness stirred their maternal instincts; they were apt to stroke her and patronize her. “I declare, you don’t seem like nothing but a doll baby to me,” her companion pursued, her large damp hand giving Julie’s shoulder a final pat. “It beats me why you never married, Julie.--Oh my Lord!” she broke off abruptly, clapping her hand to her mouth. “What is it? What’s the matter?” Julie cried, in alarm. Mrs. Anderson performed some violent mouth-gymnastics behind her palm. “It’s my teeth,” she explained, spasmodically, at last. “I can’t seem to get used to this new set, an’ seems like they’re always a-bitin’ at my tongue. I have to watch ’em all the time. An’ I’m mightily afraid they’ll drop out in company some day.” She withdrew her hand at length, and they started on again. “But as I say,” she continued, “I don’t see why in the name of goodness you never married.” “I never wanted to marry,” Julie said hastily, an uncomfortable restraint falling upon her. “Oh yes, that’s just what every old maid says, if you’ll excuse _me_,” Mrs. Anderson retorted. “No--but it’s true; I mean it,” Julie protested. “I--I always just hated the idea of getting married. It scares me to think of it.” They were passing under an electric light, and Mrs. Anderson looked down at her curiously. “Well, now, ain’t that funny? I just believe that’s so,” she stated. “An’ it ain’t for want of chances, neither. There was Sam Dodson--he courted you, didn’t he?” Julie was silent, but in the street light Mrs. Anderson could see the nervous self-consciousness of her face. “Oh, all right, don’t tell, then,” she continued. “But everybody knows he did, an’ Pinckney Wayland, too--and wasn’t there a drummer feller from Cincinnati? Why, Julie, you’ve had a heap of chances. Most people would brag about ’em. Scary as you are, I’d think you’d want to be married an’ have a man ’round to look after you--There! there, now!” She stopped again, dramatically. “What is it? Your teeth?” Julie inquired, with concern. “No, but I got an idea. It’s come to me all of a sudden. I just believe I’ll make a match between you and the new preacher. Now I think that’d be real suitable. He’s about the right age for you, an’ maybe marrying a widower like that wouldn’t scare you s’ much.” Julie quickened her pace nervously, walking with averted eyes. “Widowers, now,” Mrs. Anderson pursued, “They’re broke to double harness already--they ain’t so hard to drive as a colt.”