“But--but what makes her look so?” he stammered. “And--and what's she got that on her head for? And she groaned! Why, she MUST be sick!” Mrs. Snow, having found the clean napkin, laid it beside her husband's plate. “No,” she said calmly. “It's one of her sympathetic attacks; that's what she calls 'em, sympathetic attacks. She has 'em every time Laban Keeler starts in on one of his periodics. It's nerves, I suppose. Cap'n Zelotes--your grandfather--says it's everlastin' foolishness. Whatever 'tis, it's a nuisance. And she's so sensible other times, too.” Albert was more puzzled than ever. Why in the world Mrs. Ellis should tie up her head and groan because the little Keeler person had gone on a spree was beyond his comprehension. His grandmother enlightened him a trifle. “You see,” she went on, “she and Laban have been engaged to be married ever since they were young folks. It's Laban's weakness for liquor that's kept 'em apart so long. She won't marry him while he drinks and he keeps swearin' off and then breaking down. He's a good man, too; an awful good man and capable as all get-out when he's sober. Lately that is, for the last seven or eight years, beginnin' with the time when that lecturer on mesmerism and telegraphy--no, telepathy--thought-transfers and such--was at the town hall--Rachel has been havin' these sympathetic attacks of hers. She declares that alcohol-takin' is a disease and that Laban suffers when he's tipsy and that she and he are so bound up together that she suffers just the same as he does. I must say I never noticed him sufferin' very much, not at the beginnin,' anyhow--acts more as he was havin' a good time--but she seems to. I don't wonder you smile,” she added. “'Tis funny, in a way, and it's queer that such a practical, common-sense woman as Rachel Ellis is, should have such a notion. It's hard on us, though. Don't say anything to her about it, and don't laugh at her, whatever you do.” Albert wanted to laugh very much. “But, Mrs. Snow--” he began. “Mercy sakes alive! You ain't goin' to call me 'Mrs. Snow,' I hope.” “No, of course not. But, Grandmother why do you and Captain--you and Grandfather keep her and Keeler if they are so much trouble? Why don't you let them go and get someone else?” “Let 'em go? Get someone else! Why, we COULDN'T get anybody else, anyone who would be like them. They're almost a part of our family; that is, Rachel is, she's been here since goodness knows when. And, when he's sober Laban almost runs the lumber business. Besides, they're nice folks--almost always.” Plainly the ways of South Harniss were not the ways of the world he had known. Certainly these people were “Rubes” and queer Rubes, too. Then he remembered that two of them were his grandparents and that his immediate future was, so to speak, in their hands. The thought was not entirely comforting or delightful. He was still pondering upon it when his grandfather came in from the barn.