"They'll be back," said the woman imperturbably, "an' more with 'em.

You want t' git your gla.s.ses all washed up, Gus; an' you may as well fetch up another demijohn out the cellar."

Was it foreknowledge, or merely coincidence which at this same hour led Mrs. Solomon Black, frugally inspecting her supplies for tomorrow morning's breakfast, to discover that her baking-powder can was empty?

"I'll have to roll out a few biscuits for their breakfast," she decided, "or else I'll run short of bread for dinner."

Her two boarders, Lydia Orr and the minister, were sitting on the piazza, engaged in what appeared to be a most interesting conversation, when Mrs. Black unlatched the front gate and emerged upon the street, her second-best hat carefully disposed upon her water-waves.

"I won't be gone a minute," she paused to a.s.sure them; "I just got to step down to the grocery."

A sudden hush fell upon a loud and excited conversation when Mrs.

Solomon Black, very erect as to her spinal column and noticeably composed and dignified in her manner, entered Henry Daggett's store.

She walked straight past the group of men who stood about the door to the counter, where Mr. Daggett was wrapping in brown paper two large dill pickles dripping sourness for a small girl with straw-colored pig-tails.

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 a.s.sociation 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' Gren.o.ble 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 ch.o.r.e 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.

"That ain't decided," snapped Mrs. Black. "She could do better than to buy that tumble-down old shack."

"So she could; so she could," soothed the postmaster. "But it's going to be a good thing for the creditors, if she can swing it. Let me see, you wa'n't a loser in the Bolton Bank; was you, Mis' Black?"

"No; I wa'n't; my late departed husband had too much horse-sense."

And having thus impugned less fortunate persons, Mrs. Solomon Black departed, a little stiffer as to her back-bone than when she entered.

She had imparted information; she had also acquired it. When she had returned rather later than usual from selling her strawberries in Gren.o.ble she had hurried her vegetables on to boil and set the table for dinner. She could hear the minister pacing up and down his room in the restless way which Mrs. Black secretly resented, since it would necessitate changing the side breadths of matting to the middle of the floor long before this should be done. But of Lydia Orr there was no sign. The minister came promptly down stairs at sound of the belated dinner-bell. But to Mrs. Black's voluble explanations for the unwonted hour he returned the briefest of perfunctory replies. He seemed hungry and ate heartily of the cold boiled beef and vegetables.

"Did you see anything of _her_ this morning?" asked Mrs. Black pointedly, as she cut the dried-apple pie. "I can't think what's become of her."

Wesley Elliot glanced up from an absent-minded contemplation of an egg spot on the tablecloth.

"If you refer to Miss Orr," said he, "I did see her--in a carriage with Deacon Whittle."

He was instantly ashamed of the innocent prevarication. But he told himself he did not choose to discuss Miss Orr's affairs with Mrs.

Black.

Just then Lydia came in, her eyes shining, her cheeks very pink; but like the minister she seemed disposed to silence, and Mrs. Black was forced to restrain her curiosity.

"How'd you make out this morning?" she inquired, as Lydia, having hurried through her dinner, rose to leave the table.

"Very well, thank you, Mrs. Black," said the girl brightly. Then she went at once to her room and closed the door.

At supper time it was just the same; neither the minister nor the girl who sat opposite him had anything to say. But no sooner had Mrs.

Black begun to clear away the dishes than the two withdrew to the vine-shaded porch, as if by common consent.

"She ought to know right off about f.a.n.n.y Dodge and the minister,"

Mrs. Black told herself.

She was still revolving this in her mind as she walked sedately along the street, the red and yellow striped bag clasped tightly in both hands. Of course everybody in the village would suppose she knew all about Lydia Orr. But the fact was she knew very little. The week before, one of her customers in Gren.o.ble, in the course of a business transaction which involved a pair of chickens, a dozen eggs and two boxes of strawberries, had asked, in a casual way, if Mrs. Black knew any one in Brookville who kept boarders.

"The minister of our church boards with me," she told the Gren.o.ble woman, with pardonable pride. "I don't know of anybody else that takes boarders in Brookville." She added that she had an extra room.

"Well, one of my boarders--a real nice young lady from Boston--has taken a queer notion to board in Brookville," said the woman. "She was out autoing the other day and went through there. I guess the country 'round Brookville must be real pretty this time of year."

"Yes; it is, real pretty," she had told the Gren.o.ble woman.

And this had been the simple prelude to Lydia Orr's appearance in Brookville.

Wooded hills did not interest Mrs. Black, nor did the meandering of the silver river through its narrow valley. But she took an honest pride in her own freshly painted white house with its vividly green blinds, and in her front yard with its prim rows of annuals and thrifty young dahlias. As for Miss Lydia Orr's girlish rapture over the view from her bedroom window, so long as it was productive of honestly earned dollars, Mrs. Black was disposed to view it with indulgence. There was nothing about the girl or her possessions to indicate wealth or social importance, beyond the fact that she arrived in a hired automobile from Gren.o.ble instead of riding over in Mrs. Solomon Black's spring wagon. Miss Orr brought with her to Brookville one trunk, the contents of which she had arranged at once in the bureau drawers and wardrobe of Mrs. Black's second-best bedroom. It was evident from a private inspection of their contents that Miss Orr was in mourning.