“The same,” nodded Miss Hitty, overjoyed to discover that at last her hostess was interested.  “Doctor Anthony Dexter, our old schoolmate, as had just graduated when you lived here before.  He went away for a year and then he came back, bringing a pretty young wife.  She’s dead, but he has a son, Ralph, who’s away studying to be a doctor.  He’ll graduate this Spring and then he’s coming here to help his father with his practice.  Doctor Dexter’s getting old, like the rest of us, and he don’t like the night work.  Some folks is inconsiderate enough to get sick in the night.  They orter have regular hours for it, same as a doctor has hours for business.  Things would fit better.

“Well, I must be going, for I left soup on the stove, and Araminta’s likely as not to let it burn.  I’m going to send your supper over to you, and next week, if the weather’s favourable, we’ll clean this house.  Goodness knows it needs it.  I’d just as soon send over all your meals till you get settled—­’t wouldn’t be any trouble.  Or, you can come over to my house if you wouldn’t mind eating with the minister.  It seems queer to set down to the table with a man, and not altogether natural, but I’m beginning to get used to it, and it gives us the advantage of a blessing, and, anyway, ministers don’t count.  Come over when you can.  Goodbye!”

With a rustle of stiffly starched garments Miss Mehitable took her departure, carefully closing the door and avoiding the appearance of haste.  This was an effort, for every fibre of her being ached to get back to the clearing house, where she might speculate upon Evelina’s return.  It was her desire, also, to hunt up the oldest inhabitant before nightfall and correct her pitiful lapse of memory.

At the same time, she was planning to send Araminta over with a nice hot supper, for Miss Evelina seemed to be far from strong, and, even to one lacking in discernment, acutely unhappy.

Down the road she went, her head bowed in deep and fruitless thought.  Swiftly, as in a lightning flash, and without premonition, she remembered.

“Evelina was burnt,” she said to herself, triumphantly, “over to Doctor Dexter’s, and they took her on the train to the hospital.  I guess she wears that veil all the time.”

Then Miss Hitty stopped at her own gate, catching her breath quickly.  “She must have been burnt awful,” she thought.  “Poor soul!” she murmured, her sharp eyes softening with tears.  “Poor soul!”

III

The Pearls

A rap at the door roused Miss Evelina from a deadly stupor which seemed stabbed through with daggers of pain.  She sat quite still, determined not to open the door.  Presently, she heard the sound of retreating footsteps, and was reassured.  Then she saw a bit of folded paper which had been slipped under the door, and, mechanically, she picked it up.

“Here’s your supper,” the note read, briefly.  “When you get done, leave the tray outside.  I’ll come and get it.  I would like to have you come over if you want to.—­Mehitable Smith.”