“And you are going to write it, aren’t you, Miss Hart?” asked the gentleman.

“Yes,” replied Lucinda, with alacrity.

This time the gentleman looked a trifle suspicious.  He pressed his inquiry.  “Can you let us have the copy by Wednesday?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Lucinda.  Her “yes” had the effect of a snap.

The gentleman talked a little more at length with regard to his article, and Lucinda never failed with her ready “yes.”

They were almost at the turn of the road, where Sylvia would leave Lucinda, when a woman appeared.  She was young, but she looked old, and her expression was one of spiritual hunger.

“This lady writes for a Boston paper,” said Lucinda.  “She came yesterday.  She wants me to write a piece for her paper upon women’s unfairness to women.”

“Based upon the late unfortunate occurrence at Miss Hart’s hotel,” said the woman.

“Yes,” said Lucinda, “of course; everything is based on that.  She wants me to write a piece upon how ready women are to accuse other women of doing things they didn’t do.”

“And you are going to write it?” said the woman, eagerly.

“Yes,” said Lucinda.

“Oh, thank you! you are a perfect dear,” said the woman.  “I am so much pleased, and so will Mr. Evans be when he hears the news.  Now I must ask you to excuse me if I hurry past, for I ought to wire him at once.  I can get back to Boston to-night.”

The woman had left them, with a swish of a frilled silk petticoat under a tailored skirt, when Sylvia looked at Lucinda.  “You ain’t goin’ to?” said she.

“No.”

“But you said so.”

“You’d say anything to get rid of them.  I’ve said no till I found out they wouldn’t take it, so then I began to say yes.  I guess I’ve said yes, in all, to about seventeen.”

“And you don’t mean to write a thing?”

“I guess I ain’t going to begin writing for the papers at my time of life.”

“But what will they do?”

“They won’t get the pieces.”

“Can’t they sue you, or anything?”

“Let them sue if they want to.  After what I’ve been through lately I guess I sha’n’t mind that.”

“And you are telling every one of them you’ll write a piece?”

“Of course I am.  It’s the only thing they’ll let me tell them.  I want to get rid of them somehow.”

Sylvia looked at Lucinda anxiously.  “Is it true that Albion Bennet has left?” she said.

“Yes; he was afraid of getting poisoned.  Mrs. Jim Jones has taken him.  I reckon I sha’n’t have many steady boarders after this has quieted down.”

“But how are you going to get along, Lucinda?”

“I shall get along.  Everybody gets along.  What’s heaped on you you have to get along with.  I own the hotel, and I shall keep more hens and raise more garden truck, and let Hannah go if I can’t pay her.  I shall have some business, enough to keep me alive, I guess.”