“Men ain’t apt to claim a sin that don’t belong to ’em—­that’s my opinion.”

“He did it to shield another.”

“Sidney Trove?” was the half-whispered query of the sister Lize.

“Trove, no!” said the other, quickly.  “It was that old man with a gray beard who never spoke to anybody an’ used to visit the tinker.”

She was interrupted by a newcomer—­a stout woman of middle age who fluttered in, breathing heavily, under a look of pallor and agitation.

“Sh-h-h!” said she, lifting a large hand.  She sank upon a chair, fanning herself.  She said nothing for a little, as if to give the Recording Angel a chance to dip her pen.  The customer, who was now counting a box of beads, turned quickly, and she that was called Lize dropped her knitting.

“What is it, Bet, for mercy’s sake?” said the latter.

“Have you heard the news?” said she that was called Bet.

“Land sakes, no!” said both the others.

Then followed a moment of suspense, during which the newcomer sat biting her under lip, a merry smile in her face.  She was like a child dallying with a red plum.

“You’re too provoking!” said the sister Lize, impatiently.  “Why do you keep us hanging by the eyebrows?” She pulled her yarn with some violence, and the ball dropped to the floor, rolling half across it.

“Sh-h-h!” said the dear sister Bet again.  Another woman had stopped by the door.  Then a scornful whisper from the sister Lize.

“It’s that horrible Kate Tredder.  Mercy! is she coming in?”

She came in.  Long since she had ceased to enjoy credit or confidence at the little shop.

“Nice day,” said she.

The sister Lize moved impatiently and picked up her work.  This untimely entrance had left her “hanging by the eyebrows” and red with anxiety.  She gave the newcomer a sweeping glance, sighed and said, “Yes.”  The sister Bet grew serious and began tapping the floor with her toe.

“I’ve been clear ‘round the square,” said Mrs. Tredder, “an’ I guess I’ll sit a while.  I ain’t done a thing to-day, an’ I don’t b’lieve I’ll try ’til after dinner.  Miss Tole, you may give me another yard o’ that red silk ribbon.”

She sat by the counter, and Miss Tole sniffed a little and began to measure the ribbon.  She was deeply if secretly offended by this intrusion.

“What’s the news?” said the newcomer, turning to the sister Bet.

“Oh, nothing!” said the other, wearily.

“Ain’t you heard about that woman up at the Moosehead?”

“Heard all I care to,” said the sister Bet, with jealous feeling.  Here was another red plum off the same tree.

“What about her?” said the sister Lize, now reaching on tiptoe, as it were.  The sister Bet rose impatiently and made for the door.

“Going?” said she that was called Lize, a note of alarm in her voice.

“Yes; do you think I’ve nothing else to do but sit here and gossip,” said sister Bet, disappearing suddenly, her face red.