She cuvvered her face wid her hands convoolsively, and me shtopping in me wark in the dining-room lissening by the dure, and reddy to bat the interfeering widder on the hed wid me dooster. “Now me deer” ses the widder, “you must counteract at wanse the evil of this long oshun voyuge. You must follow the pair at wanse to Yurope.” “I? O Mrs. Bangs, indade we arent rich people. We cudden’t afford it” ses Miss Claire, “and besides, Jimmy may cross in the fall. He’s been offered the London corryspundint post for the Planut.” “He’d better accipt at wanse” ses the widder promply “as for you——” Just thin in walked Mr. John and brort an ind to the paneful interfoo. The widder found hersilf aloan wid the sintimintul gintleman looking at her tinderly. Her own face is poockered oop wod exaspenashun. “John Wolley!” ses she, “I feel like shaking you.” “What have I dun, Jane?” ses he reproatchfully. “Why dident you propose to me a month ago?” ses she crossly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXVI A WEEK LATER This marnin’ wen I wint to open the door to tak in the papers a strange site greeted me eyes. “My God!” ses I aloud, “is it snowing in Orgust.” Thin I seen Mr. John. He had wun of me dish pans in his hands and it seemed to be full of holes, fer sumthing white do be scattering from the bottom of it all over the place. I throwed up me hands in horrow. Just thin I seen the widdy, and she likewise had a pan and was scattering the white doost in another place. She guv me a smile: “Good marning Delia!” ses she, “we’re goin’ to surprise Mr. Jimmy. We’re pooting sumthing on his drives wich will kill all grass and weeds. It’s salt,” ses she. “My conshunse John Wolley!” she screemed, “what are you doing?” Mr. John was bizzy wid his pan around Miss Claire’s floury hidge wich is a sorry enuff looking hidge, being that the weeds and grarss have grown out thick wid only a poor little flour to pike up its hed here and there. Mr. John do be throwing the salt wid a ginerous hand over the sad looking hidge. “Why,” ses he, “I’m killing the weeds in poor little Claire’s garden.” The widdy threw doon her pan and set upon it. “You do beat the dooch!” ses she, “why you gander,” ses she, “doant you know ye’ll kill the _flours_ too. John Wolley, I’ve harf a mind to shake you and I _will_ too!” ses she. Wid that she roon acrost to him, wid her hands hild out—but befure she can tooch him, he grabbed her aboot the waste, and kissed her plump on the lips. “You retch!” ses she, “and befure Delia too! Oh-h!” ses she, and stamps her foot.