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supposin' 't he c'u'd be happy with you. 1 talked kind, but I took no fish-bones out o' the truth. I give him jus' my own observation, an' no more. I told him 't it wasn't in me to try an' fool even a deacon; an' so when I said frank and free 't even your very cats soon gave up washin' their faces, he c'u'd depend upon its bein' so. I says to him, I says: 'Deacon White, there's lots worse things 'n bein' unmarried, an' if you marry Mrs. Lathrop you'll learn every last one of 'em. Your first wife was deaf,' I says, 'an' Mrs. Lathrop c'n hear. She's a very good hearer, too,' I says (for you know 's I'd never be one to run you down, Mrs. Lathrop); 'but anythin' 's is more of a' effort than listenin' never gets done in her house. You're tidy in your ways. Deacon White,' I says; 'any one as 's ever passed when you was hangin' out your dish-towels'd swear to that; an' such bein' the case, how c'u'd you ever be happy with them 's spreads their wash on the currant-bushes or lets it blow to the dogs?' Maybe I was a little hard on him, but I felt 's it was then or never, an' I tried my best to save him. It ain't in nature for them 's goes unhooked to ever realize what their unhookedness is to them 's hooks, an' so it 'd be hopeless to try to let you see why my sympathies was so with the deacon; but, to make a long tale short, he jus' hung on like grim death, an' in the end I had to give up. He said I was your friend, an' he wanted 's I sh'u'd explain everythin' to you; an' to-morrow, when he gets back from Meadville, he'll come up an' get his answer. He didn't ask 'f I thought you'd have him, 'cause o' course he knowed you'd have him 's well 's I did. He said 's he sh'u'd mention it about town to keep any women from takin' the same train with him. He says he hasn't been anywhere by himself for ever so long. He says jus' as soon 's he's married he's goin' off fer a good long trip, all alone."

Susan ceased speaking for a little; Mrs. Lathrop looked dazed and dubious.

"It's so unex—" she said slowly.

"The beginnin' o' gettin' married always is," said her friend; "but it's all there is about it's is even unexpected. It's all cut an' dried from there on. Once you take a man, nothin' 's ever sudden no more. Folks expects all sorts o' pleasant surprises; everybody seems to get married f'r better, an' then get along f'r worse. They begin by imaginin' a lot an' then iookin' f'r the thing to be 'way beyond the imaginin'; it ain't long afore they see 't their imaginin' was 'way beyond the thing, an' after that they soon have it all on top o' them to carry till they die."

"I never was no great hand at marryin'," said Mrs. Lathrop, faintly. "I was propelled into it the first—"

"Well, nobody ain't propellin' you this time," said Miss Clegg. "I'm hangin' back on your skirts, with my heels stuck in 's far 's they'll go." She rose as she spoke.

"I don't know what I shall—" began the older woman, looking up at the younger.

"You've got all to-morrow to decide. He won't be back till five o'clock. I shouldn't worry, 'f I was you. O' course, it's your last love-affair, probably, an' you want to get 's much 's you can out of it; but I don't see no call to fret any. He ain't frettin'. He's jus' in a hurry to get married, an' get rid o' Gran'ma Mullins an' Mrs. Macy an' Polly Ann an' Liza Em'ly, an' get started on that nice long trip he's goin' on alone."

"I shall think—" murmured Mrs. Lathrop.

Susan was decking herself for going home.

"I won't be over in the mornin'," she said as she tied on her cap; "I've got errands down-town: but I'll come over after dinner."

"Good-by," said Mrs. Lathrop.

"Good-by," said her friend.

It was somewhat warmer the next morning. Mrs. Lathrop began the day on a cup of extra-strong coffee, and continued it in an unusual mood of clearing up. Her kitchen was really very close to exemplary when two o'clock arrived, and she took up her knitting to wait for the promised visitation.

It matured about half-past the hour. The visitor brought her knitting, too.

"Well, Mrs. Lathrop," she said pleasantly on entering, "if it wasn't for the automobile, you an' the deacon 'd surely be the talk o' the town this day."

"Whose aut—?"

"Nobody's; jus' two men's. One steers in goggles, an' the other jumps in an' out an' settles fer the damages. I see it first on my way down-town this mornin'; only, as a matter of fact, I didn't see it, an' it