"Wall--sun'thin' ain't right; and I don't think the minister's clear what it is; and _I_ ain't. She was took as sudden--you never see nothin' suddener--she come in here to fix a dish o' eggs for supper that she's mighty particler about, and don't think no one can cook eggs but herself; and I was talkin' and tellin' her about my old experiences in the post office--and she went up-stairs and took to her bed; and she hain't left it sen. Now ain't that queer? 'Cause she didn't say nothin' ailed her; not a word; only she went up and took to her bed; and she doos look queer at you, that I will say. Mebbe it's fever a comin' on." There was a minute or two's silence. Mrs. Starling did not immediately find her tongue. "What have the post office and your stories got to do with it?" she asked harshly. "I should like to know." "Yes,--" said Miss Collins, drawing out the word with affable intonation,--"that's what beats me. What should they? But la! the post office is queer; that's what I always said. Everybody gits into it; and ef you're there, o' course you can't help knowin' things." "You weren't in the post office!" said Mrs. Starling. "It was none of _your_ business." "Warn't I?" said Miss Collins. "Don't you mind better'n that, Mis' Starling? I mind you comin', and I mind givin' you your letters too; I mind some 'ticlar big ones, that had stamps enough on to set up a shop. La, 'tain't no harm. Miss Gunn, she used to feel a sort o' sameness about allays takin' in and givin' out, and then she'd come into the kitchen and make cake mebbe, and send me to 'tend the letters and the folks. And then it was as good as a play to me. Don't you never git tired o' trottin' a mile in a bushel, Mis' Starlin'? So I was jest a tellin' Diany"-- "Where's the minister?" "Most likely he's where she is--up-stairs. He won't let nobody else do a hand's turn for her. He takes up every cup of tea, and he spreads every bit of bread and butter; and he tastes the broths; you'd think he was anythin' in the world but a minister; he tastes the broth, and he calls for the salt and pepper, and he stirs and he tastes; and then--you never see a man make such a fuss, leastways _I_ never did--he'll have a white napkin and spread over a tray, and the cup on it, and saucer too, for he won't have the cup 'thout the saucer, and then carry it off.--Was your husband like that, Mis' Starling? He was a minister, I've heerd tell." Mrs. Starling turned short about without answering and went up-stairs.