"I c'n see it from here," said Susan, "'n' 's long 's we're on the subjeck I want to remark right now 't, with the wind settin' the way it 's blowin' to-day, I don't want you to burn nothin' while I'm gone. 'F you'll excuse my bein' so open with you, Mrs. Lathrop, I'll say 't a woman in your circumstances ought not to waste nothin' by burnin' it anyhow, 'n' 'f she does do anythin' so foolish no woman in my circumstances 'd ought to have her house all smelled up." "I ain't goin'--" began the neighbor. "That reminds me 't I am," rejoined she of the black mitts; and so saying, she quitted the window and was presently seen departing down her front walk,--a pleasing object in a bonnet of the jetted era and a shawl of no date whatever. Mrs. Lathrop divided her afternoon between active service over the vinegar kettle and long rests of delicious unconsciousness in the kitchen rocker. Her temperament was not one which wore itself out in vain regrets over what might have been, and then too she knew that Susan was at the meeting and from Susan she would learn all that might there transpire. About half-past five she began to glance out of the window which looked furthest down the street, and some ten minutes later her watching was rewarded by the sight of Miss Clegg and another lady approaching slowly. An animated conversation appeared to be in progress between the two, and at the gate of Mrs. Lathrop's dearest friend they made a long halt while the latter appeared to be laying down some form of law with uncommon vigor and pointing its points off with her knitting, which she waved about in a manner unwontedly reckless. Mrs. Lathrop--having not only spilt more during the afternoon, but also been twice the victim of what is technically known as "boiling over"--felt quite unable to make a third at the gate party, and so was forced to masticate her impatience and hover in the window until Susan turned at last and came up her walk. "Can you come--" then called the eager waiter. "Not till after I get my supper," the other replied. Mrs. Lathrop sighed, and forced herself to further patience. It was all of seven when Miss Clegg finally came over. "I'll sit on the steps," she announced. "Bein' 's we're such friends, Mrs. Lathrop, I may 's well say right here 'n' now 't I would n't sit down in your kitchen this night for no money. I'd carry the spots till I died most likely 'n' have no one but myself to blame f'r it. You may not thank me f'r sayin' it to your face, but it isn't in me to deceive so much 's a water-bug, 'n' 'f I live to be a hunderd I c'd never forget seein' you make a chocolate cake once. I c'd make a chocolate cake 'n' a king might eat off o' my cuffs 'n' collar when I was through, but what surprised me about your chocolate cake, Mrs. Lathrop, was 't you did n't get into the oven with it in the end, for I'll take my Bible oath 's you had 's much on you 's on any pan." "We c'n sit on the--" said Mrs. Lathrop pleasantly.