rk. ... I've always felt to
be thankful that the house was on this rise o' ground. The teams hev to
slow up on 'count o' the hill, 'n' it gives me consid'ble chance to see
folks 'n' what they've got in the back of the wagon, 'n' one thing 'n'
other. ... The neighbors is continually comin' in here to talk about
things that's goin' on in the village. I like to hear 'em, but land!
they can't tell me nothing'! They often say, 'For massy sakes, Lucindy
Bascom, how d' you know that?' 'Why,' says I to them, 'I don't ask no
questions, 'n' folks don't tell me no lies; I just set in my winder,
'n' put two 'n' two together,--that's all I do.' I ain't never ben in a
playhouse, but I don't suppose the play-actors git down off the platform
on t' the main floor to explain to the folks what they've ben doin',
do they? I expect, if folks can't understand their draymas when the're
actin' of 'em out, they have to go ignorant, don't they? Well, what do I
want with explainin', when everythin' is acted out right in the road?"

There was quite a gathering of neighbors at the Bascoms' on this
particular July afternoon. No invitations had been sent out, and none
were needed. A common excitement had made it vital that people should
drop in somewhere, and speculate about certain interesting matters well
known to be going on in the community, but going on in such an underhand
and secretive fashion that it well-nigh destroyed one's faith in human
nature.

The sitting-room door was open into the entry, so that whatever breeze
there was might come in, and an unusual glimpse of the new foreroom rug
was afforded the spectators. Everything was as neat as wax, for Diadema
was a housekeeper of the type fast passing away. The great coal stove
was enveloped in its usual summer wrapper of purple calico, which, tied
neatly about its ebony neck and portly waist, gave it the appearance
of a buxom colored lady presiding over the assembly. The kerosene lamps
stood in a row on the high, narrow mantelpiece, each chimney protected
from the flies by a brown paper bag inverted over its head. Two plaster
Samuels praying under the pink mosquito netting adorned the ends of
the shelf. There were screens at all the windows, and Diadema fidgeted
nervously when a visitor came in the mosquito netting door, for fear a
fly should sneak in with her.

On the wall were certificates of membership in the Missionary Society; a
picture of Maidens welcoming Washington in the Streets