Galusha, startled, stared at her.

“Dear me, Primmie,” he observed.  “How you do—­ah—­bounce at one, so to speak.  What is the matter?”

“Matter?  I cal’late we both know what’s the matter, but what I want to know is if it’s goin’ to keep on bein’ the matter.  Is it all right?  Have you fixed it up?”

“Fixed what up?  And please speak lower.  Yes, and don’t—­ah—­ bounce, if you don’t mind.”

“I won’t, honest I won’t.  But have you fixed up Miss Martha’s trouble; you and them Bancroft folks, I mean?  Have you, Mr. Bangs?”

“Bancroft folks? . . .  How did you know I—­”

“I seen it, of course.  ’Twas in that note you left on the table.”

“Note?  Why, Primmie, that note was for Miss Phipps.  Why did you read it?”

“Why wouldn’t I read it?  There ’twas laid out on the table when I came down to poke up the fire and set the kettle on.  There wasn’t no name on it, so ’twan’t till I’d read it clear through that I knew ’twas for Miss Martha.  It said:  ’Have gone to Boston to see—­er—­what’s-his-name and Somebody-else and—­’ Never mind, Bancroft’s all I remember, anyhow.  But it said you’d gone to them folks to see about ‘stock matter.’  Well, then I knew ’twas for Miss Martha. I didn’t have no stock matters for folks to see about.  My savin’ soul, no!  And then you said, ’Hope to settle everything and have good news when I come back.’  I remember that all right. . . .  Oh, Mr. Bangs, have you settled it?  Have you got good news for her?”

By this time she had forgotten all about the request to speak in a low tone.  Galusha glanced fearfully at the open door behind her.

“Sshh! shh, Primmie,” he begged.

“But have you?  Have you, Mr. Bangs?”

“Why—­why, perhaps, Primmie.  I mean—­that is to say—­”

He stopped.  Miss Phipps was standing in the doorway.

“Why, Mr. Bangs!” she exclaimed.  “Are you here so soon?  I didn’t expect you till to-night.  What are you standin’ out there in the cold for?  Come in, come in!”

And then Primmie, to make use of the expressive idiom of her friend, the driver of the grocery cart, Primmie “spilled the beans.”  She turned, saw her mistress, and ran toward her, waving both hands.

“Oh, Miss Martha!” she cried, “he—­he’s done it.  He says it’s all right.  He does! he does!”

“Primmie!”

“He says he’s been to them—­them Bancroft what’s-his-name folks and he’s got the good news for you.  Oh, ain’t it elegant!  Ain’t it!”

This wild perversion of his guarded statement took Galusha completely by surprise.  He started forward aghast.  And then he saw Martha Phipps’ face.  Upon it were written such hope and relief and joy that the words of expostulation and protest remained unspoken.  And it was Martha who spoke first.

“Oh, Mr. Bangs!” she gasped.  “Oh, Mr. Bangs!”