“In an auto?” inquired Abby Daggett eagerly.

“Yes,” nodded Mrs. Black.  “I told her I could bring her over in the wagon just as well as not; but she said she had the man all engaged.  I told her we was going to have a fair, and she said right off she wanted to come.”

Abby Daggett laid her warm plump hand on Mrs. Black’s arm.

“I dunno when I’ve took such a fancy to anybody at first sight,” she said musingly.  “She’s what I call a real sweet girl.  I’m just going to love her, I know.”

She gazed beseechingly at Mrs. Solomon Black.

“Mebbe you’ll think it’s just gossipy curiosity; but I would like to know where that girl come from, and who her folks was, and how she happened to come to Brookville.  I s’pose you know all about her; don’t you?”

Mrs. Solomon Black coughed slightly.  She was aware of the distinction she had already acquired in the eyes of Brookville from the mere fact of Lydia Orr’s presence in her house.

“If I do,” she began cautiously, “I don’t know as it’s for me to say.”

“Don’t fer pity’s sake think I’m nosey,” besought Abby Daggett almost tearfully.  “You know I ain’t that kind; but I don’t see how folks is going to help being interested in a sweet pretty girl like Miss Orr, and her coming so unexpected.  And you know there’s them that’ll invent things that ain’t true, if they don’t hear the facts.”

“She’s from Boston,” said Mrs. Solomon Black grudgingly.  “You can tell Lois Daggett that much, if she’s getting anxious.”

Mrs. Daggett’s large face crimsoned.  She was one of those soft, easily hurt persons whose blushes bring tears.  She sniffed a little and raised her handkerchief to her eyes.

“I was afraid you’d—­”

“Well, of course I ain’t scared of you, Abby,” relented Mrs. Black.  “But I says to myself, ‘I’m goin’ to let Lydia Orr stand on her two own feet in this town,’ I says.  She can say what she likes about herself, an’ there won’t be no lies coming home to roost at my house.  I guess you’d feel the very same way if you was in my place, Abby.”

Mrs. Daggett glanced with childish admiration at the other woman’s magenta-tinted face under its jetty water-waves.  Even Mrs. Black’s everyday hat was handsomer than her own Sunday-best.

“You always was so smart an’ sensible, Phoebe,” she said mildly.  “I remember ’way back in school, when we was both girls, you always could see through arithmetic problems right off, when I couldn’t for the life of me.  I guess you’re right about letting her speak for herself.”

“Course I am!” agreed Mrs. Black triumphantly.

She had extricated herself from a difficulty with flying colors.  She would still preserve her reputation for being a close-mouthed woman who knew a lot more about everything than she chose to tell.

“Anybody can see she’s wearing mournin’,” she added benevolently.