“Take who?” Mrs. Bridges’s voice rasped as she asked the question. Isaphene paused on her way to the pantry, and looked at Mrs. Hanna with deeply thoughtful eyes. “Why, Mis’ Lane—who else?—before I’d let her go to the poor-farm.” “Well, I think her childern ought to be _made_ to take care of her!” Mrs. Bridges went on setting the table with brisk, angry movements. “That’s what I think about it. The law ought to take holt of it.” “Well, you see the law _has_ took holt of it,” said Mrs. Hanna, with a grim smile. “It seems a shame that there ain’t somebody in the neighborhood that ’u’d take her in. She ain’t much expense, but a good deal o’ trouble. She’s sick, in an’ out o’ bed, nigh onto all the time. My opinion is she’s been soured by all her troubles; an’ that if somebody ’u’d only take her in an’ be kind to her, her temper’ment ’u’d emprove up wonderful. She’s always mighty grateful for ev’ry little chore you do her. It just makes my heart ache to think o’ her a-havin’ to go to the poor-house!” Mrs. Bridges lifted her head; all the softness and irresolution went out of her face. “Well, I’m sorry for her,” she said, with an air of dismissing a disagreeable subject; “but the world’s full o’ troubles, an’ if you cried over all o’ them you’d be a-cryin’ all the time. Isaphene, you go out an’ blow that dinner-horn. I see the men-folks ’av’ got the horses about foddered. What did you do?” she cried out, sharply. “Drop a smoothin’-iron on your hand? Well, my goodness! Why don’t you keep your eyes about you? You’ll go an’ get a cancer yet!” “I’m thinkin’ about buyin’ a horse an’ buggy,” she announced, with stern triumph, when the girl had gone out. “An’ an organ. Isaphene’s been wantin’ one most offul. I’ve give up her paw’s ever gettin’ her one. First a new harrow, an’ then a paten’ rake, an’ then a seed-drill—an’ then my mercy”—imitating a masculine voice—“he ain’t got any money left for silliness! But I’ve got some laid by. I’d like to see his eyes when he comes home an’ finds a bran new buggy with a top an’ all, an’ a horse that he can’t hetch to a plow, no matter how bad he wants to! I ain’t sure but I’ll get a phaeton.” “They ain’t so strong, but they’re handy to get in an’ out of—’specially for old, trembly knees.” “I ain’t so old that I’m trembly!” “Oh, my—no,” said Mrs. Hanna, with a little start. “I was just thinkin’ mebbe sometimes you’d go out to the poor-farm an’ take poor, old Mis’ Lane for a little ride. It ain’t more’n five miles from here, is it? She ust to have a horse an’ buggy o’ her own. Somehow, I can’t get her off o’ my mind at all to-day. I just heard about her as I was a-startin’ for your house.” The men came to the house. They paused on the back porch to clean their boots on the scraper and wash their hands and faces with water dipped from the rain-barrel. Their faces shone like brown marble when they came in. * * * * *