but cried, ‘n’ she cried dreadful, f’r she didn’t know nothin’ about babies ‘n’ thought it was goin’ to be bald always, jus’ like him.  But what did he marry for if he did n’t want trouble?—­That was what I said to the minister’s wife.  She come to call right in the first of it, ‘n’ I must say ‘t if she hadn’t come mebbe a good many things might o’ been different, for my mind was about made up then, an’ I was thinkin’ very serious o’ mebbe sayin’ suthin’ to you that very night.  But she put me at outs with the whole thing—­not as I won’t admit ’t there ain’t a difference between one ‘n’ nine, f’r any one c’n work that out on their fingers fast enough.”

Mrs. Lathrop assented to this statement by moving her head in a slow acquiescent rhythm as she rocked.

“But her talk was certainly awful discouragin’.  She was tryin’ to speak o’ Mr. Shores, but she kep’ trailin’ back to herself, ‘n’ when she said ‘t she’d never had time to crimp her hair since her weddin’ day she jus’ broke right down.  I cheered her up all I could.  I told her she couldn’t with a clear conscience blame any one but herself ‘n’ she’d ought to say her prayers of gratitude ’t she hadn’t got eight herself, same ‘s him.  She sort o’ choked ‘n’ said she couldn’t have eight ’cause she had n’t been married but one year.  ‘Well,’ I says, ’I don’t see no great sense in that; he had eight the day he was married ’s far ‘s that goes, did n’t he?’ She jus’ rocked back ‘n’ forth ‘n’ said ’t no one in the whole wide world had any notion how many eight children was till they turned aroun’ from the altar ‘n’ see ’em strung out in the pew ’s is saved for the family.  I told her ’t as far ’s my observation ’d ‘xtended quite a number o’ things looked different comin’ down from the altar, ‘n’ it was in my heart to tell her ’t if I’d let any man get so much the better o’ me ’s to marry me, my self-respeck would certainly shut my mouth up tight afterwards.  As long ’s a woman ’s single she’s top-dog in the fight ‘n’ can say what she pleases, but after she’s married a man she’ll keep still ’f she’s wise, ‘n’ the wiser she is the stiller she’ll keep, for there’s no sense in ever lettin’folks know how badly you’ve been fooled.—­But I didn’t say all that to the minister’s wife, for she didn’t look like she had strength to listen, ‘n’ so I made her some tea instead.—­’N’ then it come out ’t after all what she come for was to borrow my clo’es-wringer!  Well, Mrs. Lathrop, I certainly didn’t have no blame f’r myself at feelin’ some tempered under them circumstances,—­me so sympathetic—­’n’ the tea—­’n’ all.”

Mrs. Lathrop shook her head in calm and appreciative understanding.

“Did you lend—­” she asked.