Emarine stood up. Her heart was like a thistle-down. Her eyes were shining. “All right,” she said; “an’ I want that you sh’u’d come just at eleven. I must run right back now. Good-night.” “Well, I declare!” said Miss Presly. “That girl gits prettier ev’ry day o’ her life. Why, she just looked full o’ _glame_ to-night!” * * * * * Orville was not at home when his mother arrived in her rusty best dress and shawl. Mrs. Endey saw her coming. She gasped out, “Why, good grieve! Here’s Mis’ Parmer, Emarine!” “Yes, I know,” said Emarine, calmly. “I ast her to dinner.” She opened the door, and shook hands with her mother-in-law, giving her mother a look of defiance that almost upset that lady’s gravity. “You set right down, Mother Parmer, an’ let me take your things. Orville don’t know you’re comin’, an’ I just want to see his face when he comes in. Here’s a new black shawl fer your Christmas. I got mother one just like it. See what nice long fringe it’s got. Oh, my, don’t go to cryin’! Here comes Orville.” She stepped aside quickly. When her husband entered his eyes fell instantly on his mother, weeping childishly over the new shawl. She was in the old splint rocking-chair with the high back. “_Mother!_” he cried; then he gave a frightened, tortured glance at his wife. Emarine smiled at him, but it was through tears. “Emarine ast me, Orville—she ast me to dinner o’ herself! An’ she give me this shawl. I’m—cryin’—fer—joy——” “I ast her to dinner,” said Emarine, “but she ain’t ever goin’ back again. She’s goin’ to _stay_. I expect we’ve both had enough of a lesson to do us.” Orville did not speak. He fell on his knees and laid his head, like a boy, in his mother’s lap, and reached one strong but trembling arm up to his wife’s waist, drawing her down to him. Mrs. Endey got up and went to rattling things around on the table vigorously. “Well, I never see sech a pack o’ loonatics!” she exclaimed. “Go an’ burn all your Christmas dinner up, if I don’t look after it! Turncoats! I expect they’ll both be fallin’ over theirselves to knuckle-down to each other from now on! I never see!” But there was something in her eyes, too, that made them beautiful. THE CUTTIN’-OUT OF BART WINN THE CUTTIN’-OUT OF BART WINN “Lavin-ee!” “Well?” Mrs. Vaiden came to the foot of the stairs. “You up there?” she said. “Yes, maw. What you want?” “Somebody’s comin’,” said Mrs. Vaiden, lowering her voice to a tone of important mystery. “I guess not here,” said Lavinia, lightly. She sat down on the top step and smiled at her mother. “Yes, it is here, too,” retorted Mrs. Vaiden, with some irritation. “If you couldn’t conterdict a body ’t wouldn’t be you! You’re just like your paw!” She paused, and then added: “It’s a man a-foot. He’s comin’ up the path slow, a-stoppin’ to look at the flowers.” “Maybe it’s the minister,” said the girl, still regarding her mother with a good-natured, teasing smile.