e, being made with the whites of fourteen perfec'ly fresh eggs;
the next layer is fruit and spice, as rich as wedding cake ought to
be; the top cake is best of all; and can be lifted right off and
given to Rever'nd an' Mrs. Wesley Elliot.... I guess they'll like to
keep the wedding couple for a souvenir."

A vigorous clapping of hands burst forth. Mrs. Solomon Black waited
modestly till this gratifying demonstration had subsided, then she
went on:

"I guess most of you ladies'll r'member how one short year ago Miss
Lyddy Orr Bolton came a'walkin' int' our midst, lookin' sweet an'
modest, like she was; and how down-in-th'-mouth we was all a-feelin',
'count o' havin' no money t' buy th' things we'd worked s' hard t'
make. Some of us hadn't no more grit an' gumption 'n Ananias an'
S'phira, t' say nothin' o' Jonah an' others I c'd name. In she came,
an' ev'rythin' was changed from that minute! ...Now, I want we sh'd
cut up that cake--after everybody's had a chance t' see it good--all
but th' top layer, same's I said--an' all of us have a piece, out o'
compl'ment t' our paster an' his wife, an' in memory o' her, who's
gone from us."

"But Lyddy Orr ain't dead, Mis' Black," protested Mrs. Daggett
warmly.

"She might 's well be, 's fur 's our seein' her 's concerned,"
replied Mrs. Black. "She's gone t' Boston t' stay f'r good, b'cause
she couldn't stan' it no-how here in Brookville, after her pa was
found dead. The' was plenty o' hard talk, b'fore an' after; an' when
it come t' breakin' her windows with stones an' hittin' her in th'
head, so she was 'bleeged t' have three stitches took, all I c'n say
is I don't wonder she went t' Boston.... Anyway, that's my wish an'
d'sire 'bout that cake."

The arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Wesley Elliot offered a welcome
interruption to a scene which was becoming uncomfortably tense.
Whatever prickings of conscience there might have been under the gay
muslin and silks of her little audience, each woman privately
resented the superior attitude assumed by Mrs. Solomon Black.

"Easy f'r _her_ t' talk," murmured Mrs. Fulsom, from between puckered
lips; "_she_ didn't lose no money off Andrew Bolton."

"An' she didn't get none, neither, when it come t' dividin' up," Mrs.
Mixter reminded her.

"That's so," assented Mrs. Fulsom, as she followed in pretty Mrs.
Mixter's wake to greet the newly-married pair.

"My! ain't you proud o' her," whispered Abby Daggett to Maria Dodge.
"She's a perfec'