“Marryin’ Mrs. Brown’s son!  Well, ’f your mind don’t run queer ways!  Whatever sh’d put such an idea into your head?  I hope you ’ll excuse my sayin’ so, Mrs. Lathrop, but I don’t believe anybody but you would ever ‘a’ asked such a question, when you know ’s well ’s everybody else does ‘t he’s runnin’ his legs off after Amelia Fitch.  Any man who wants a little chit o’ eighteen wouldn’t suit my taste much, ‘n’ anyhow I never thought of him; I only asked him to come in in a friendly way ‘n’ tell me how long he thinks ’t father may live.  I don’t see my way to makin’ any sort o’ plans with father so dreffle indefinite, ‘n’ a man who was fool enough to marry me, tied up like I am now, would n’t have s’fficient brains to be worth lookin’ over.  Mrs. Brown’s son ‘s learnin’ docterin’, ‘n’ he’s been at it long enough so ‘s to be able to see through anythin’ ’s simple ’s father, I sh’d think.  ’T any rate, ‘f he don’t know nothin’ yet, Heaven help Amelia Fitch ‘n’ me, f’r he’ll take us both in.”

“Who was you thinkin’ o’—­” Mrs. Lathrop asked, resuming her former occupation.

“The minister,” replied Miss Clegg.  “I did n’t stop to consider very much, but it struck me ’s polite to begin with him.  I c’d marry him without waitin’ for father, too, ’cause a minister could n’t in reason find fault over another man’s bein’ always to home.  O’ course he would n’t be still like father is, but I ain’t never been one to look gift-horses in the mouth, ‘n’ I d’n’ know ’s I ’d ought to expect another man jus’ like father in one life.  Mother often said father’s advantages was great, for you always knew where he was, ‘n’ ’f you drew down the shade you c’d tell him it was rainin’ ‘n’ he could n’t never contradick.”

Mrs. Lathrop nodded acquiescently but made no comment.

Miss Clegg withdrew somewhat from her confidentially inclined attitude.

“I won’t be out in the mornin’,” she said.  “I sh’ll want to dust father ‘n’ turn him out o’ the window afore Mrs. Brown’s son comes.  After he’s gone I’ll wave my dish-towel, ‘n’ then you come out ‘n’ I ’ll tell you what he says.”

They separated for the night, and Susan went to sleep with her own version of love’s young dream.

Mrs. Brown’s son arrived quite promptly the next morning.  He drove up in Mr. Brown’s buggy, and Amelia Fitch held the horse while he went inside to inspect Mr. Clegg.  The visit did not consume more than ten minutes, and then he hurried out to the gate and was off.

The buggy was hardly out of sight up the road when Miss Clegg emerged from her kitchen door, her face bearing an imprint of deep and thorough disgust.