Emarine was pretty, in spite of many freckles and the tightness with which she brushed her hair from her face and coiled it in a sleek knot at the back of her head. “Now, be sure you get it just so slick, Emarine,” her mother would say, watching her steadily while she combed and brushed and twisted her long tresses. As Emarine reached the door her mother followed her down the hall from the kitchen. The house was old, and two or three loose pieces in the flooring creaked as she stepped heavily upon them. “Oh, say, Emarine!” “Well?” “You get an’ bring home a dollar’s worth o’ granylated sugar, will you?” “Well.” “An’ a box o’ ball bluin’. Mercy, child! Your dress-skirt sags awful in the back. Why don’t you run a tuck in it?” Emarine turned her head over her shoulder with a birdlike movement, and bent backward, trying to see the offensive sag. “Can’t you pin it up, maw?” “Yes, I guess. Have you got a pin? Why, Emarine Endey! If ever I see in all my born days! What are you a-doin’ with a red ribbon on you—an’ your Uncle Herndon not cold in his grave yet! A fine spectickle you’d make o’ yourself, a-goin’ the length an’ the breadth o’ the town with that thing a-flarin’ on you. You’ll disgrace this whole fambly yet! I have to keep watch o’ you like a two-year-old baby. Now, you get an’ take it right off o’ you; an’ don’t you let me ketch you a-puttin’ it on again till a respectful time after he’s be’n dead. I never hear tell o’ such a thing.” “I don’t see what a red ribbon’s got to do with Uncle Herndon’s bein’ dead,” said Emarine. “Oh, you don’t, aigh? Well, _I_ see. You act as if you didn’t have no feelin’.” “Well, goin’ without a red ribbon won’t make me feel any worse, will it, maw?” “No, it won’t. Emarine, what does get into you to act so tantalizin’? I guess it’ll look a little better. I guess the neighbors won’t talk quite so much. You can see fer yourself how they talk about Mis’ Henspeter because she wore a rose to church before her husband had be’n dead a year. All she had to say fer herself was that she liked flowers, an’ didn’t sense it ’u’d be any disrespect to her husband to wear it—seein’s he’d always liked ’em, too. They all showed her ’n a hurry what they thought about it. She’s got narrow borders on all her han’kachers, too, a’ready.” “Why don’t you stay away from such people?” said Emarine. “Old gossips! You know I don’t care what the neighbors say—or think, either.” “Well, _I_ do. The land knows they talk a plenty even without givin’ ’em anything to talk about. You get an’ take that red ribbon off o’ you.” “Oh, I’ll take it off if you want I sh’u’d.” She unfastened it deliberately and laid it on a little table. She had an exasperating air of being unconvinced and of complying merely for the sake of peace. She gathered her shawl about her shoulders and crossed the porch. “Emarine!” “Well?” “Who’s that a-comin’ over the hill path? I can’t make out the dress. It looks some like Mis’ Grandy, don’t it?”