ieders!" cried she.

Thekla Lieders rather staggered than walked into the room and fell back
on the black haircloth sofa.

"There, there, there," said the young woman while she patted the broad
shoulders heaving between sobs and short breath, "what is it? The house
aint afire?"

"Oh, no, oh, Mrs. Olsen, he has done it again!" She wailed in sobs, like
a child.

"Done it? Done what?" exclaimed Mrs. Olsen, then her face paled. "Oh, my
gracious, you DON'T mean he's killed himself------"

"Yes, he's killed himself, again."

"And he's dead?" asked the other in an awed tone.

Mrs. Lieders gulped down her tears. "Oh, not so bad as that, I cut him
down, he was up in the garret and I sus--suspected him and I run up
and--oh, he was there, a choking, and he was so mad! He swore at me
and--he kicked me when I--I says: 'Kurt, what are you doing of? Hold
on till I git a knife,' I says--for his hands was just dangling at his
side; and he says nottings cause he couldn't, he was most gone, and I
knowed I wouldn't have time to git no knife but I saw it was a rope was
pretty bad worn and so--so I just run and jumped and ketched it in my
hands, and being I'm so fleshy it couldn't stand no more and it broke!
And, oh! he--he kicked me when I was try to come near to git the rope
off his neck; and so soon like he could git his breath he swore at
me----"

"And you a helping of him! Just listen to that!" cried the hearer
indignantly.

"So I come here for to git you and Mr. Olsen to help me git him down
stairs, 'cause he is too heavy for me to lift, and he is so mad he won't
walk down himself."

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll call Carl. Carl! dost thou hear? come! But
did you dare to leave him Mrs. Lieders?" Part of the time she spoke
in English, part of the time in her own tongue, gliding from one to
another, and neither party observing the transition.

Mrs. Lieders wiped her eyes, saying: "Oh, yes, Danke schon, I aint
afraid 'cause I tied him with the rope, righd good, so he don't got no
chance to move. He was make faces at me all the time I tied him." At the
remembrance, the tears welled anew.

Mrs. Olsen, a little bright tinted woman with a nose too small for her
big blue eyes and chubby cheeks, quivered with indignant sympathy.

"Well, I did nefer hear of sooch a mean acting man!" seemed to her the
most natural expression; but the wife fired, at once.

"No, he is not a mean man," she cried, "no, Freda Olsen, he is not a
mean ma