d her goal like a ship with a full gale
behind it.

A thin middle-aged woman, Mrs. Barrows was, of medium height and of
terrific energy. The drama of her personal existence in a small town
with no outside interests being always insufficient, Susan had filled in
her hunger with an insatiate appetite for other people's affairs. Never
could her curiosity about her neighbours be wholly gratified, and yet,
like the possessor of any other great passion, its owner did her level
best to satisfy it.

Out in the road, with one hand she grasped Ambrose's coat sleeve while
the other was unconsciously raised toward heaven. Two bright spots of
colour burned on her high cheek bones, her bunches of black corkscrew
curls trembled with eagerness, her eyes challenged.

"Tell me where you be goin' and what you be a-goin' fer, Ambrose
Thompson. It ain't fair you stealin' off this way each year and nobody
findin' out where or why. Seems like us bein' neighbours and me seein'
to you since your ma's death, that you might leastways have put your
trust in me."

Removing her hand from his sleeve, Ambrose patted it gently before
returning it to its owner. "No, ma'am, I ain't goin' to tell you no more
this time than before," he replied. "And I was hopin' to get off once
without remarks."

During this temporary delay the younger Susan had been industriously
pecking and poking about in the lower part of their neighbour's gig. Now
as the young man moved on for the second time the child's voice again
rang after him.

"He's goin' courtin'; Ambrose Thompson is always runnin' after girls!
It's Peachy Williams, for I seen his leg under his duster, and he's
wearing his Sunday clothes!"

These last words were a triumph of evidence, but not for a moment would
Ambrose look back nor appear to have heard. A humorous affection he
might feel for the older Susan, but for the younger his dislike was to
last for more than fifty years. Nevertheless, a little later he did turn
around, and root and branch, the Susans had vanished, so that even now
the news of his departure was stirring through Pennyroyal as the wind
moves the leaves in a group of closely planted trees.

Something it is to know when one is beaten. Swearing a trifle and yet
grinning, the boy settled himself more comfortably in his gig. "Might as
well drive through town now kind of slow, and give folks a treat," he
relented. "Mebbe I was shirkin' duty in tryin' to sneak off. Pennyrile
ain't to s