“An’ I never will,” said Mrs. Endey, grimly. “You’ve got a son-in-law, though, who’s worth a whole townful of most son-in-laws. He was such a good son, too; jest worshipped his mother; couldn’t bear her out o’ his sight. He humored her high an’ low. That’s jest the way Sidonie does with me. I’m gettin’ cranky ’s I get older, an’ sometimes I’m reel cross an’ sassy to her; but she jest laffs at me, an’ then comes an’ kisses me, an’ I’m all right ag’in. It’s a blessin’ right from God to have a daughter-in-law like that.” The knife in Emarine’s hand slipped, and she uttered a little cry. “Hurt you?” demanded her mother, sternly. Emarine was silent, and did not turn. “Cut you, Emarine? Why don’t you answer me? Aigh?” “A little,” said Emarine. She went into the pantry, and presently returned with a narrow strip of muslin which she wound around her finger. “Well, I never see! You never will learn any gumption! Why don’t you look what you’re about? Now, go around Christmas with your finger all tied up!” “Oh, that’ll be all right by to-morrow,” said Mrs. Eliot, cheerfully. “Won’t it, Emarine? Never cry over spilt milk, Mrs. Endey; it makes a body get wrinkles too fast. O’ course Orville’s mother’s comin’ to take dinner’ with you, Emarine.” “Dear me!” exclaimed Emarine, in a sudden flutter. “I don’t see why them cranberries don’t come! I told Orville to hurry ’em up. I’d best make the floatin’ island while I wait.” “I stopped at Orville’s mother’s as I came along.” “How?” Emarine turned in a startled way from the table. “I say, I stopped at Orville’s mother’s as I come along, Emarine.” “Oh!” “She well?” asked Mrs. Endey. “No, she ain’t; shakin’ like she had the Saint Vitus dance. She’s failed harrable lately. She’d b’en cryin’; her eyes was all swelled up.” There was quite a silence. Then Mrs. Endey said—“What she b’en cryin’ about?” “Why, when I asked her she jest laffed kind o’ pitiful, an’ said: ‘Oh, only my tomfoolishness, o’ course.’ Said she always got to thinkin’ about other Christmases. But I cheered her up. I told her what a good time I always had at my son’s, and how Sidonie jest couldn’t do enough fer me. An’ I told her to think what a nice time she’d have here ’t Emarine’s to-morrow.” Mrs. Endey smiled. “What she say to that?” “She didn’t say much. I could see she was thankful, though, she had a son’s to go to. She said she pitied all poor wretches that had to set out their Christmas alone. Poor old lady! she ain’t got much spunk left. She’s all broke down. But I cheered her up some. Sech a _wishful_ look took holt o’ her when I pictchered her dinner over here at Emarine’s. I can’t seem to forget it. Goodness! I must go. I’m on my way to Sidonie’s, an’ she’ll be comin’ after me if I ain’t on time.” When Mrs. Eliot had gone limping down the path, Mrs. Endey said: “You got your front room red up, Emarine?” “No; I ain’t had time to red up anything.” “Well, I’ll do it. Where’s your duster at?”