"Then Timothy Toplady let loose: 'A school-buildin', Calliope', s'he,--'why, it's a dignified place. They must respect it, same as they would a church. Could you learn youngsters the Constitution of the United States in a room where they'd just been cookin' up cough drops an' hearin' dance tunes?' "'Well,' says I, calm, 'if you can't, I'd leave the Constitution of the United States _go_. If it's that delicate,' I says back at him, 'gimme the cough drops.' "'You're talkin' treason,' says Silas, hoarse. "Timothy groans. '_Dancin!_' he says. 'Amanda,' he says, 'I hope you ain't sunk so low as Calliope?' "Mis' Toplady wavered a little. She's kind of down on dancing herself. 'Well,' she says, 'anyhow, I'd fling some place open and invite 'em in for _somethin'_.' "'_I_ ain't for this, Silas,' says Mis' Sykes, righteous. '_I_ believe the law is the law, and we'd best use it. Nothin' we can do is as good as enforcin' the dignity of the law.' "'Oh, _rot_!' says Eppleby Holcomb, abrupt. Eppleby hadn't been saying a word. But he looked up from the wood-box where he was setting, and he wrinkled up his eyes at the corners the way he does--it wasn't a real elegant word he picked, but I loved Eppleby for that 'rot.' 'Asking your pardon, Mis' Sykes,' he says, 'I ain't got so much confidence in enforcin' the law as I've got in edgin' round an' edgin' round accordin' to your cloth--an' your pattern. An' your pattern.' "'Lord heavens!' says Silas, looking glassy, 'if this was Roosia, you an' Calliope'd both be hoofin' it hot-foot for Siberia.' "Well, it was like arguing with two trees. They wasn't no use talking to either Silas or Timothy. I forget who said what last, but the meeting broke up, after a little, some strained, and we hadn't decided on anything. Us ladies had vigilanced one night to about as much purpose as mosquitoes humming. And I said good night to them and went on up street, wondering why God lets a beautiful, burning plan come waving its wings in your head and your heart if he don't intend you to make a way for yourself to use it. "Then, by the big evergreens a block or so from my house, I heard somebody laugh--a little, low, nice, soft, sort of foolish laugh, a woman's laugh, and a man's voice joined in with it, pleasant and sort of singing. I was right onto them before they see me. "'I thought it was a lonesome town,' says somebody, 'but I guess it ain't.' "And there, beside of me, sitting on the rail fence under the evergreens, was Minerva Beach, my own cousin, and the little, tired photograph-taking man. I had just bare time to catch my breath and to sense where the minute really belonged--that's always a good thing to do, ain't it?--and then I says, cool as you please: "'Hello, Minerva! My! ain't the night grand? I don't wonder you couldn't stay in the house. How do, Mr. Myers? I was just remembering my lemon-pie that won't be good if it sets till to-morrow. Come on in and let's have it, and make a little lemonade.'