"How in the name of mercy is he goin' to raise any child, when there ain't no women folks about his house 'ceptin' old Marier, an' she so blind an' rheumaticky that she kin sca'cely git about?" "Well, what 's he a-doin' with the child, then?" "That 's jest what I 'm a-goin' to find out. I 'm a-goin' down to Miss Prime's. Len' me yore shawl, Melviny." "You ain't never goin' to dare to ask her, air you?" "You jest trust me to find things out without givin' myself away. I won't never let her know what I want right out, but I 'll talk it out o' her." "What a woman you air, Sallie Martin!" said Mrs. Smith, admiringly. "But do hurry back an' tell me what she says: I 'm jest dyin' to know." "I 'll be back in little or no time, because I can't stay, nohow." Mrs. Martin threw the borrowed shawl over her head and set off down the street. She and her friend were not dwellers on the mean street, and so they could pretend to so nearly an equal social footing with Miss Prime as to admit of an occasional neighbourly call. Through the window Miss Prime saw her visitor approaching, and a grim smile curved the corners of her mouth. "Comin' fur news," muttered the spinster. "She 'll git all she wants before she goes." But there was no trace of suspicion in her manner as she opened the door at Mrs. Martin's rap. "Hey oh, Miss Hester, busy as usual, I see." "Yes, indeed. People that try to do their dooty 'ain't got much time fur rest in this world." "No, indeed; it's dig, dig, dig, and work, work, work." "Take off yore shawl an' set down, Sallie. It 's a wonder you don't take yore death o' cold or git plum full o' neuralgy, a-runnin' around in this weather with nothin' but a shawl over yore head." "La, Miss Hester, they say that worthless people 's hard to kill. It ain't allus true, though, fur there was poor Margar't Brent, she was n't worth much, but my! she went out like a match." "Yes, but matches don't go out until their time ef they 're held down right; an' it 's jest so with people." "That 's true enough, Miss Hester. Was you to Margar't's funeral?" "Oh, yes, I went." "Did you go out to the cimetery?" "Oomph huh." "Did she look natural?" "Jest as natural as one could expect after a hard life an' a hard death." "Pore Margar't!" Mrs. Martin sighed. There was a long and embarrassed silence. Miss Prime's lips were compressed, and she seemed more aggressively busy than usual. She bustled about as if every minute were her last one. She brushed off tables, set chairs to rights, and tried the golden-brown cup-cake with a straw to see if it were done. Her visitor positively writhed with curiosity and discomfiture. Finally she began again. "Margar't only had one child, did n't she?" "Yes, that was all." "Pore little lamb. Motherless childern has a hard time of it." "Indeed, most of 'em do." "Do you know what 's become of the child, Miss Hester?"