Mr. Daggett beamed cordially upon Mrs. Black, as he dropped two copper pennies in his cash-drawer.

“Good evening, ma’am,” said he.  “What can I do for you?”

“A ten-cent can of baking-powder, if you please,” replied the lady primly.

“Must take a lot of victuals to feed them two boarders o’ yourn,” hazarded Mr. Daggett, still cordially, and with a dash of confidential sympathy in his voice.

Mr. Daggett had, by virtue of long association with his wife, acquired something of her spontaneous warm-heartedness.  He had found it useful in his business.

“Oh, they ain’t neither of ’em so hearty,” said Mrs. Black, searching in her pocket-book with the air of one who is in haste.

“We was just speakin’ about the young woman that’s stopping at your house,” murmured Mr. Daggett.  “Let me see; I disremember which kind of bakin’-powder you use, Mis’ Black.”

“The Golden Rule brand, if you please, Mr. Daggett.”

“H’m; let me see if I’ve got one of them Golden Rules left,” mused Mr. Daggett....  “I told the boys I guessed she was some relation of th’ Grenoble Orrs, an’ mebbe—­”

“Well; she ain’t,” denied Mrs. Black crisply.

“M-m-m?” interrogated Mr. Daggett, intent upon a careful search among the various canned products on his shelf.  “How’d she happen to come to Brookville?”

Mrs. Black tossed her head.

“Of course it ain’t for me to say,” she returned, with a dignity which made her appear taller than she really was.  “But folks has heard of the table I set, ’way to Boston.”

“You don’t say!” exclaimed Mr. Daggett.  “So she come from Boston, did she?  I thought she seemed kind of—­”

“I don’t know as there’s any secret about where she come from,” returned Mrs. Black aggressively.  “I never s’posed there was.  Folks ain’t had time to git acquainted with her yit.”

“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Daggett, as if the idea was a new and valuable one.  “Yes, ma’am; you’re right! we ain’t none of us had time to git acquainted.”

He beamed cordially upon Mrs. Black over the tops of his spectacles.  “Looks like we’re going to git a chance to know her,” he went on.  “It seems the young woman has made up her mind to settle amongst us.  Yes, ma’am; we’ve been hearing she’s on the point of buying property and settling right down here in Brookville.”

An excited buzz of comment in the front of the store broke in upon this confidential conversation.  Mrs. Black appeared to become aware for the first time of the score of masculine eyes fixed upon her.

“Ain’t you got any of the Golden Rule?” she demanded sharply.  “That looks like it to me—­over in behind them cans of tomatoes.  It’s got a blue label.”

“Why, yes; here ’tis, sure enough,” admitted Mr. Daggett.  “I guess I must be losing my eyesight....  It’s going to be quite a chore to fix up the old Bolton house,” he added, as he inserted the blue labeled can of reputation in a red and yellow striped paper bag.