Mrs. Flint, with the apprehensiveness of a neat housekeeper, was trotting from one room to another, replacing a chair here, raising or lowering a curtain a fraction of an inch there, and now and then wiping away an imaginary spot of dust. Will Flint was looking out one of the sitting-room windows, and rocking nervously with one leg thrown over the arm of his chair. He wanted to smoke and read, but smoking was not to be thought of in the parsonage. "What's going to happen, mother?" he asked, as she came into the sitting-room in search of disorder and dust. "Our club is to meet here this morning," Mrs. Flint replied, proudly. "Guess I'll go for a walk," said Will, as he got up, stretched his arms, and yawned. "I had hoped," sighed Mrs. Flint, regretfully, "that you would stay at home and meet the ladies." "No, thank you, mother, I guess I'll be safer out-of-doors," he replied, with a laugh. "Will," said Mrs. Flint, reprovingly. "I beg your pardon, mother dear, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but--a houseful of women, it's impossible!" Mrs. Flint suppressed another sigh. Since her son's return from college she could not accustom herself to his ways. She wanted to say, "Willie, be sure and return in time for dinner," but she realized that the boy had become a man, and remained silent. "I'll be home in time for supper," said Will, as he took his hat and started for the door, then added, "Good luck, mother," and went out. Mrs. Flint watched from the window, as he walked down the path and up the road, until he disappeared. She was about to turn away from the window when Mrs. Stout waddled into view, stopped in front of the parsonage, hailed Alick Purbeck, who was driving by, and the following conversation, which Mrs. Flint and all of her neighbours could hear, took place. "How's your folks, Alick?" asked Mrs. Stout. "Children ain't well." "Too bad, what doctor've you got?" "Jones." "He don't know nothin'." "He did my wife a lot of good." "He don't understand children." "Well, I've had him twice, and--" "Take my advice and get another." "I'll see." "Has Sam Billin's been tellin' you any more trash about the woman's club?" "Not a word. Get-ap." The grocer's wagon rattled off down the street, and Mrs. Stout went to the door and rang the bell. Mrs. Flint was disgusted, but succeeded in concealing her feelings, and greeted Mrs. Stout smilingly. "You are punctual, Mrs. Stout," she said. "Yes," puffed Mrs. Stout, "I always make it a point to be on time; it pays and don't cost anything." "Yes, come right in, punctuality is indeed a virtue, but one that is unappreciated by those who do not possess it." "I declare," said Mrs. Stout, as she plumped into a chair, "I do believe I'm gettin' wheezy in my old age, just that little walk from my house has tuckered me out. How's the club gettin' along?"