"Pity," whined Miss Skinlin; "professors should let their light shine. _I_ always try to drop a word in season, wherever business calls _me_. Will you have a cross-way fold on your sleeve, ma'am? I don't think it would be out of place, even on this mournful occasion. Mrs. Tufts wore one when her eldest child died, and she was dreadful grief-stricken. I remember she gave me (poor dear!) a five-dollar note, instead of a two; but that was a thing I hadn't the heart to harass her about at such a time. I respected her grief too much, ma'am. Did I understand you that I was to put the cross-way folds on your sleeve, ma'am?" "You may do as you like," whined the old lady; "people _do_ dress more at hotels." "Yes," said Miss Skinlin; "and I often feel reproved for aiding and abetting such foolish vanities; and yet, if I refused, from conscientious scruples, to trim dresses, I suppose somebody else _would_; so you see, it wouldn't do any good. Your daughter-in-law is left rich, I suppose. I always think that's a great consolation to a bereaved widow." "You needn't _suppose_ any such thing," said the doctor, facing Miss Skinlin; "she hasn't the first red cent." "Dreadful!" shrieked Miss Skinlin. "What _is_ she going to do?" "That tells the whole story," said the doctor; "sure enough, what _is_ she going to do?" "I suppose she'll live with _you_," said Miss Skinlin, suggestively. "You needn't suppose _that_, either," retorted the doctor. "It isn't every person, Miss Skinlin, who is agreeable enough to be taken into one's house; besides, she has got folks of her own." "Oh,--ah!"--said Miss Skinlin; "rich?" "Yes, very," said the doctor; "unless some of their poor relatives turn up, in which case, they are always dreadfully out of pocket." "I un-der-stand," said Miss Skinlin, with a significant nod. "Well; I don't see anything left for her to do, but to earn her living, like some other folks." "P-r-e-c-i-s-e-l-y," said the doctor. "Oh--ah,"--said Miss Skinlin, who had at last possessed herself of "the whole story." "I forgot to ask you how wide a hem I should allow on your black crape veil," said Miss Skinlin, tying on her bonnet to go. "Half a yard width is not considered too much for the _deepest_ affliction. Your daughter, the widow, will probably have that width," said the crafty dress-maker. "In my opinion, Ruth is in no deeper affliction than we are," said the doctor, growing very red in the face; "although she makes more fuss about it; so you may just make the hem of Mis. Hall's veil half-yard deep too, and send the bill into No. 20, where it will be footed by Doctor Zekiel Hall, who is not in the habit of ordering what he can't pay for. _That_ tells the whole story." "Good morning," said Miss Skinlin, with another doleful whine. "May the Lord be your support, and let the light of His countenance shine upon you, as our minister says." CHAPTER XXXI.