Poor Miss Wilcox, in horror, found herself for a moment wishing vehemently that nobody _knew_. All her castles lay in ruins; and there were those bills that had seemed so trifling, looming monumentally now! She must undertake the abhorrent duty of putting Mrs. Shields out; and where or when would she get another tenant? She went to the house, flinching in expectation of the encounter with this person whom she now classified with formless dread as _one of those women_; to be sure, previous experience had revealed nothing alarming about her, but now that Mrs. Shields knew herself discovered, it would undoubtedly be different. She did not answer the bell, and Miss Martha, worriedly investigating, at length came upon her in the back yard where she had just finished scrubbing and refilling the bird-bath. Leaning on the broom, she was awaiting the approach of a robin; she saw Miss Wilcox out of the corner of her eye, and made a slight arresting gesture. The bird came on, with a kind of wary confidence, his bright, sidewise glance fixed on her. “He’s just playing scairt. He knows me,” Mrs. Shields whispered. “But _you_ better keep back a second.” Miss Wilcox received a definite and most disconcerting shock. She had come prepared as conscious Virtue--and her logical opponent, conscious Vice, failed her! The notorious Tillie Shields did not look in the least notorious; she looked like an ignorant, dull, good-hearted woman, old and alone, cheaply pathetic with her paint and her terrific trade simper. It was with reluctance and difficulty that Miss Martha began to state her errand, but before she was halfway through, the other understood. “I s’pose Pete Maguire’s been talking,” she said with a flash of resentful conviction. “Anyhow, I had a hunch I’d get in bad, right when I was settin’ there at the ’phone. I don’t care! I’m glad I done it. I’d done it, even ’f I’d known for certain!” “I’m sorry I have to ask you to--to move,” Miss Martha began again, with miserable diffidence. “But I--I----” “Oh, it’s all right,” said Tillie Shields, submissively. “I’ll find some other place to go. I always find a place, for a while, anyhow.” Obviously she spoke in no intention of enlisting sympathy; it was a mere statement of fact. Yet Miss Martha was remotely perturbed; and now, to her dismay, she saw the other’s chin quiver and two tears tracking down the paint. “I--I liked it awful well here. Them birds----” She swallowed hard, bringing her features under control with an effort. “Ever’thing’s been took good care of. If it hadn’t been for next door----” She began to talk impetuously; it was a childishly incoherent, confident outpouring. “Miss Wilcox, you _know_ how they do! Miss Wilcox, I can’t _see_ how folks can do that way! That rabbit had a great sore on its side! And Doctor Gowdy’s a _preacher_!” Her voice rose in rebellious bewilderment. “He--why, he talks beautiful in church--I’ve _heard_ him----”