"I don't see why any one should be surprised over me lookin' worried. It says in the Bible that if you 'n' Mohamet ain't on the mountain you 're bound to have the mountain 'n' Mohamet both on you, 'n' I must say I believe it's true. I 've had to take the ten dollars as I never touch, 'n' the ten as I never will touch, 'n' the ten as I never will touch so help me Heaven--'n' spend 'em all. 'N' I don't know what I am goin' to do now, I 'm sure. Bein' yourself, Mrs. Lathrop, you can't in reason be expected to understand what it is to me to have no one but you to turn to. You 've got your good points, but you ain't no hand to have ideas nor yet to advise. I 've been slow in comin' to that view of you, but I 've got to it at last, 'n' got over it, 'n' I 'm walkin' alone now on the further side." Mrs. Lathrop looked apologetic, but remained tritely silent. Susan backed away from the fence. "It 's gettin' damp," she said; "you 've got rheumatism anyway, so you don't care if you take cold, but I ain't very anxious to, 'n' so I think we 'd ought to go in." Mrs. Lathrop nodded, and turned to go. "I hope I have n't made you feel uneasy, Mrs. Lathrop," Susan said, as she also turned; "you know me well enough to know as if I come to starvation it would never be nothin' but a joy to me to see you starve with me." Mrs. Lathrop nodded. Susan nodded. And thus they parted for the night. PART SECOND GRAN'MA MULLINS'S WOE It was some days later--a summer afternoon. The setting sun was brightening the western sky, and Susan, with her bonnet on and her sun-shade leaning beside her, sat on Mrs. Lathrop's porch and discoursed in a fashion that partook alternately of the lively and of the dejected. Mrs. Lathrop rocked calmly and listened yet more so.