That afternoon the store of Hamilton and Company was visited by a goodly number of South Harniss residents. That evening there were more. The news that Mary-'Gusta Lathrop was at home and was “tendin' store” for her uncles spread and was much discussed. The majority of those who came did so not because they contemplated purchasing extensively, but because they wished to see what effect the fashionable finishing school had had upon the girl. The general opinion seemed to be that it “hadn't changed her a mite.” This result, however, was considered a desirable one by the majority, but was by some criticized. Among the critics was Mrs. Rebecca Mullet, whose daughter Irene also was away at school undergoing the finishing process. “Well!” declared Mrs. Mullet, with decision, as she and her husband emerged from the store together. “Well! If THAT'S a sample of what the school she goes to does for them that spend their money on it, I'm mighty glad we didn't send our Rena there, ain't you, Christopher?” Mr. Chris Mullet, who had received that very week a bill for his daughter's “extras,” uttered a fervent assent. “You bet you!” he said. “It costs enough where Rena is, without sendin' her to no more expensive place.” This was not exactly the reply his wife had expected. “Umph!” she grunted, impatiently. “I do wish you could get along for two minutes without puttin' on poor mouth. I suppose likely you tell everybody that you can't afford a new overcoat account of Rena's goin' away to school. You'd ought to be prouder of your daughter than you are of an overcoat, I should think.” Mr. Mullet muttered something to the effect that he was dum sure he was not proud of his present overcoat. His wife ignored the complaint. “And you'll be proud of Irene when she comes home,” she declared. “She won't be like that Mary-'Gusta, standin' up behind the counter and sellin' goods.” “Why, now, Becky, what's the matter with her doin' that? She always used to sell goods, and behind that very counter, too. And she certainly can SELL 'em!” with a reminiscent chuckle. Mrs. Mullet glared at him. “Yes,” she drawled, with sarcasm, “so she can--to some folks. Look at you, with all that Christmas junk under your arm! You didn't need to buy that stuff any more'n you needed to fly. What did you buy it for? Tell me that.” Chris shook his head. “Blessed if I know,” he admitted. “I hadn't any idea of buyin' it, but she and me got to talkin', and she kept showin' the things to me, and I kept lookin' at 'em and--” “Yes, and kept lookin' at her, too! Don't talk to ME! There's no fool like an old fool--and an old man fool is the worst of all.” Her husband, usually meek and long-suffering under wifely discipline, evinced unwonted spirit.