“And ain’t them men a-going to have a good time when they give Mr. Tucker that deed to read?  Looks like, even if it is some trouble, you couldn’t hardly begrudge Sweetbriar these April babies, Mis’ Poteet,” said Mrs. Plunkett in a consoling voice.

“Law, Mis’ Plunkett, I don’t mind it one bit.  It ain’t a mite of trouble to me to have ’em,” answered the mother of the seven hardily.  “You all are so kind to help me out all the time with everything.  Course we are poor, but Jim makes enough to feed us, and every single child I’ve got is by fortune, just a hand-down size for somebody else’s children.  Five of ’em just stair-steps into clothes of Mis’ Rucker’s four, and Mis’ Nickols saves me all of Bob’s things to cut down, so I never have a mite of worry over any of ’em.”

“Yes, I reckon maybe the worry spread over seven don’t have a chanct to come to a head on any one of ’em,” said Mrs. Plunkett thoughtfully, and her shoulders began to stoop dejectedly as a perturbed expression dawned into her gray eyes.  “Better take him on home now, Mis’ Poteet, for sundown is house-time for babies in my opinion.  Hand him over, Rose Mary!”

Thus admonished, with a last, clinging embrace, Rose Mary delivered young Tucker to his mother, who departed with him in the direction of the Poteet cottage over beyond the milk-house.

“Is anything worrying you, Mrs. Plunkett?  Can I help?” asked Rose Mary as her neighbor lingered for a moment and glanced at her with wistful eyes.  Mrs. Plunkett was small, though round, with mournful big eyes and clad at all times in the most decorous of widow’s weeds, even if they were of necessity of black calico on week days.  Soft little curls fell dejectedly down over her eyes and her red mouth defied a dimple that had been wont to shine at the left corner, and kept to confines of straight-lipped propriety.

“It’s about Louisa Helen again and her light-mindedness.  I don’t see how a daughter of mine can act as she does with such a little feeling.  Last night Mr. Crabtree shut up the store before eight o’clock and put on his Sunday coat to come over and set on the front steps a-visiting of her, and in less’n a half hour that Bob Nickols had whistled for her from the corner, and she stood at the front gate talking to him until every light in Sweetbriar was put out, and I know it muster been past nine o’clock.  And there I had to set a-trying to distract Mr. Crabtree from her giggling.  We talked about Mr. Plunkett and all our young days and I felt real comforted.  If I can jest get Louisa Helen to see what a proper husband Thomas Crabtree will make for her we can all settle down comfortable like.  He wants her bad, from all the signs I can see.”

“But—­but isn’t Louisa Helen a little young for—­” began Rose Mary, taking what seemed a reasonable line of consolation.

“No, she’s not too young to marry,” answered her mother with spirit.  “Louisa Helen is eighteen years old in May, and I was married to Mr. Plunkett before my eighteenth birthday.  He was twenty-one, and I treated him with proper respect, too.  I never said no such foolish things as Louisa Helen says to that Nickols boy, even to Mr. Crabtree, hisself.”