"One awful hot day I was there, an' Rhody she was ironin' in the back porch, an' Mis' Curtis she was makin' pies; she was a master-hand at cookin'; you'll 'low that, Mis' Johnson." "Oh, yes," snapped Mrs. Johnson, "Mary Ann Curtis was a master at anything she put her hand to." "As I was sayin'," went on Aunt Nancy meekly, "Rhody was ironin'; and sich a pile of clothes!--white winder-curtains starched like boards, an' table-cloths, let alone shirts and other things--an' I was thinkin' how pale she was, an' peaked-lookin', when Mis' Curtis calls out, 'Rhody, the fire's goin' down. I wonder if you 'spect to iron with cold irons. Ef you do, you kin quit, for I don't have my ironin' done that way, if some folks does.' "Rhody never said a word, but jist went to the wood-pile for more wood, an' I says to Mis' Curtis, says I, 'Ef I was you, I'd hev some of the men-folks bring in the wood. Rhody don't look well.' "You oughter seen her look at me; her eyes fairly scared me. 'Our men-folks,' says she, ''s tired enough when they come in, 'thout havin' women's work to do. Ef they was shiftless as some I knows, that's all they'd be fit fur.' "I tell you, that sort o' riled me," went on the gentle voice; "but Rhody came in with a big armful of wood, so I didn't say anything." "As if you would have said anything, you good soul!" said Mrs. Johnson. "You don't know me," said Aunt Nancy. "Jonathan says I am right smart when I get riled--scares him;" and a mellow laugh rippled over her thin lips, which sounded so sweet that more than one passenger turned to see the laugher. Mrs. Johnson joined in the merriment, and I smiled too--the idea of that voice scolding was so absurd. And now it went on again: "I thought I'd say something to Jim about Rhody, for I felt oneasy about her; an' so when he was helpin' me on my horse in the evenin' (Rhody couldn't come to the fence, 'cause Mis' Curtis called her back when she started), I says to him, 'Jim,' says I, 'Rhody looks mighty bad; I'm feered she's doin' too much this hot weather.' You see, it was September, an' you know what tirin' weather we sometimes have in September. "'Oh, she's all right,' says Jim. "'No, she ain't,' says I. "Jim laughed, and his face reddened up, and says I, "'You better take good care of her, Jim; she's not a strong woman like your mother; she can't stand everything,' an' no more she couldn't, pore little thing. "Well, the very nex' Sunday, here came Jim and Rhody to see us. An' I tell you the ole man an' me was that glad he would have Rhody sing for us, an' she sang some of the songs he liked, but not many; she said she hadn't sung any fur so long it tired her. "'Why don't you sing, Rhody?' says the ole man; 'you used to sing like a bird.' "'I guess I'm not like a bird any more, Uncle Jonathan,' she says. An' then she sighed, but catchin' Jim lookin' at her, she lightened up and says, 'I am an old married woman now.'