Sammy replied slowly, “I don’t reckon it’s that kind of sickness he meant; and when you look right close into his eyes, he does ‘pear kind o’ used up like.”

In connection with this discussion, it was easy to speak of Miss Lane’s fairy prospects, for, was not the stranger from the city? and was not Sammy going to live in that land of wonders?  The two girls were preparing for the night, when Sammy, who was seated on the edge of the bed, paused, with one shoe off, to ask thoughtfully, “Mandy, what is love, anyhow?”

Mandy looked surprised.  “I reckon you ought to know,” she said with a laugh; “Ollie’s been a hangin’ ’round you ever since I can remember.”

Sammy was struggling with a knot in the other shoe lace; “Yes,” she admitted slowly; “I reckon I had ought to know; but what do you say it is, Mandy?”

“Why, hit’s—­hit’s—­jest a caring fer somebody more’n fer ary one else in th’ whole world.”

“Is that all?” The knot was still stubborn.

“No, hit ain’t all.  Hit’s a goin’ t’ live with somebody an’ a lettin’ him take care o’ you, ‘stead o’ your folks.”  Sammy was still struggling with the knot.  “An’ hit’s a cookin’ an’ a scrubbin’ an’ a mendin’ fer him, an’—­an’—­sometimes hit’s a splittin’ wood, an’ a doin’ chores, too; an’ I reckon that’s all.”

Just here the knot came undone, and the shoe dropped to the floor with a thud.  Sammy sat upright.  “No, it ain’t, Mandy; it’s a heap more’n that; it’s a nursin’ babies, and a takin’ care of ’em ’till they’re growed up, and then when they’re big enough to take care o’ themselves, and you’re old and in the way, like Grandma Bowles, it’s a lookin’ back over it all, and bein’ glad you done married the man you did.  It’s a heap more’n livin’ with a man, Mandy; it’s a doin’ all that, without ever once wishin’ he was somebody else.”

This was too much for Mandy; she blushed and giggled, then remarked, as she gazed admiringly at her friend, “You’ll look mighty fine, Sammy, when you get fixed up with all them pretties you’ll have when you an’ Ollie git married.  I wish my hair was bright an’ shiny like yourn.  How do you reckon you’ll like bein’ a fine lady anyhow?”

Here it was again.  Sammy turned upon her helpless friend, with, “How do I know if I would like it or not?  What is bein’ a fine lady, anyhow?”

“Why, bein’ a fine lady is—­is livin’ in a big house with carpets on th’ floor, an’ lookin’ glasses, an’ not havin’ no work t’ do, an’ wearin’ pretty clothes, with lots of rings an’ things, an’—­ an’,” she paused; then finished in triumph, “an’ a ridin’ in a carriage.”

That wide questioning look was in Sammy’s eyes as she returned, “It’s a heap more’n that, Mandy.  I don’t jest sense what it is, but I know ’tain’t all them things that makes a sure ’nough lady.  ’Tain’t the clothes he wears that makes Mr. Howitt different from the folks we know.  He don’t wear no rings, and he walks.  He’s jest different ’cause he’s different; and would be, no matter what he had on or where he was.”