“He’s a regular old skinflint, ain’t he?” said Mrs. Babcock.

“I guess he’s a pretty set kind of a man.”

“Set!  I should call it more’n set.  Now, Mis’ Field, I’d really like to know something.  I ain’t curious, but I’ve heard so many stories about it that I’d really like to know the truth of it once.  Somebody was speakin’ about it the other day, an’ it don’t seem right for stories to be goin’ the rounds when there ain’t no truth in ’em.  Mis’ Field, what was it set Edward Maxwell’s father agin’ him?” Mrs. Babcock’s voice sank to a whisper, she leaned farther forward, and gazed at Mrs. Field with crafty sweetness.

Mrs. Field looked out of the window.

“Well, I s’pose it was some trouble about money matters.”

“Money matters?”

“Yes, I s’pose so.”

“Mis’ Field, what did he do?"

Mrs. Field did not reply.  She looked out of the window at the green banks in front.  Her face was inscrutable.

Mrs. Babcock drew herself up.  “Course I don’t want you to tell me nothin’ you don’t want to,” said she, with injured dignity.  “I ain’t pryin’ into things that folks don’t want me to know about; it wa’n’t never my way.  All is, I thought I’d like to know the truth of it, whether there was anything in them stories or not.”

“Oh, I’d jest as soon tell you,” rejoined Mrs. Field quietly.  “I was jest a-thinkin’.  As near as I can tell you, Mis’ Babcock, Edward’s father he let him have some money, and Edward he speculated with it on something contrary to his advice, an’ lost it, an’ that made the trouble.”

“Was that all?” asked Mrs. Babcock, with a disappointed air.

“Yes, I s’pose it was.”

“I want to know!” Mrs. Babcock leaned back with a sigh.  “Well, there’s another thing,” she said presently.  “Somebody was sayin’ the other day that you thought Esther caught the consumption from her husband.  I wanted to know if you did.”

Mrs. Field’s face twitched.  “Well,” she replied, “I dun’no’.  I’ve heard consumption was catchin’, an’ she was right over him the whole time.”

“Well, I don’t know.  I ain’t never been able to take much stock in catchin’ consumption.  There was Mis’ Gay night an’ day with Susan for ten years, an’ she’s jest as well as anybody.  I should be afraid ’twas a good deal likelier to be in your family.  Does Lois cough?”

“None to speak of.”

“Well, there’s more kinds of consumption than one.”

Mrs. Babcock made quite a long call.  She shook Mrs. Field’s hand warmly at parting.  “I want to know, does Lois like honey?” said she.

“Yes, she’s real fond of it.”

“Well, I’m goin’ to send her over a dish of it.  Ours was uncommon nice this year.  It’s real good for a cough.”

On her way home Mrs. Babcock met Lois Field coming from school attended by a little flock of children.  Mrs. Babcock stopped, and looked sharply at her small, delicately pretty face, with its pointed chin and deep-set blue eyes.