The door of the little parlor opened, and Mrs. Smith stood in the passage. From her place behind the counter she had seen the splendor of that carriage before Mrs. Laurence’s gate, and could stand the cravings of her curiosity no longer. She had held herself as a sort of proprietor of the Laurence family after that famous supper, and felt that any visitor who stopped at that little gate was a guest for herself. At first she rather hesitated to put in her claim; but when a half hour, then an hour went by, and that glittering mass of black and gold still kept its place, the position became tantalizing. Leaving Boyce behind the counter, the good woman tied on her best bonnet, flung a shawl over her broad shoulders, and made her way down the street, burning with curiosity, and just a little jealous that so much distinction had come to her friend, in which she had no part. Standing there in the entry-way, she hesitated, overpowered by a first glance of the richly-dressed lady who seemed to fill up the little parlor with the splendor of her presence. Mrs. Carter had hastily put on her company manners, and sat in state, fanning herself with her still moist handkerchief. All at once, Mrs. Smith started forward, her eyes glistening, and her shawl floating away from the grasp of her hand. “Mrs. Carter! Well, I never did——” “Mrs. Smith! Is this you?” For the moment, both women were natural. Mrs. Carter forgot herself and her finery in the honest delight of meeting an old friend. Mrs. Smith, a little dazzled and bewildered, came forward with both arms held out, and would have embraced her former crony, but for a sudden consciousness of the silks, and laces, and heavy gold bracelets with which the latter was metamorphosed. This brought the arms slowly down to her side, and left her lips, from which the broad smile was vanishing, half apart. Mrs. Carter broke into a mellow laugh, and held out both hands. “So you didn’t more’n half know me, Mrs. Smith? No wonder! Sometimes I don’t know myself. But how do you do? How are the children and Smith? Is he stout and jolly as ever?” Mrs. Smith remembered that she had been cutting cheese just before she left the grocery, and wiped one hand on the corner of her shawl before she gave it into the clasp of those straw-colored gloves, smiling gingerly, as if she were afraid of hurting them. But Mrs. Carter was herself that day; a breath of secret human sympathy had swept the chaff from her really good heart, and, for the time, her magnificence was forgotten. “Well, now,” said Mrs. Smith, recovering herself under this hearty treatment. “It’s good for weak eyes to see you again, Mrs. Carter; I went around to the old house, nigh on to a year ago, and inquired about you, but they said you had moved away no one knew where; so I gave you up for a bad job. “A bad job, ha! Well, I wonder what Carter would say? _He_ don’t think it a bad job, you bet! Just look out there, Smith, and tell me what you think of that?”