her a pitcher o' water an' pointed to
the back bedroom door. 'First thing,' s'I, blunt, 'clean up'--bein' as I
was too tired to be very delicate. 'An',' s'I, 'you'll see a clean
wrapper in the closet. Put it on.' Then I went to spread
supper--warmed-up potatoes an' bread an' butter an' pickles an' sauce
an' some cocoanut layer cake. It looked rill good, with the linen clean,
though common.

"I donno how I done it, excep' I was so ramfeezled. But I clear forgot
Jennie Crapwell's shroud, layin' ready on the back bedroom bed. An'
land, land, when the woman come out, if she didn't hev it on.

"I tell you, when I see her come walkin' out towards the supper table
with them fresh-ironed ruffles framin' in her face, I felt sort o'
kitterin'-headed--like my i-dees had fell over each other to get away
from me. The shroud fit her pretty good, too, barrin' it was a mite
long-skirted. An' somehow, it give her a look almost like dignity. Come
to think of it, I donno but a shroud does become most folks--like they
was rilly well-dressed at last.

"She come an' set down to table, quiet as you please--an' differ'nt.
Your clothes don't make you, by any means, but they just do sort o' hem
your edges, or rhyme the ends of you, or give a nice, even bake to your
crust--I donno. They do somethin'. An' the shroud hed done it to that
girl. She looked rill leaved out.

"How she did eat. It give me some excuse not to say anything to her till
she was through with the first violence. I did try to say grace, but she
says: 'Who you speakin' to? Me?' An' I didn't let on. I thought I
wouldn't start in on her moral manners. I just set still an' kep'
thinkin': You poor thing. Why, you poor thing. You're nothin' but a
piece o' God's work that wants doin' over--like a back yard or a poor
piece o' road or a rubbish place, or sim'lar. An' this tidyin' up is
what we're for, as I see it--only some of us lays a-holt of our own
settin' rooms an' butt'ry cupboards an' sullars an' cleans away on
_them_ for dear life, over an' over, an' forgets the rest. I ain't
objectin' to good housekeepin' at all, but what I say is: Get your
dust-rag big enough to wipe up somethin' besides your own dust. The
Lord, He's a-housekeepin' too.

"So, with that i-dee, I got above the shroud an' I begun on the woman
some like she was my kitchen closet in the spring o' the year.

"'What's your name?' s'I.

"''Leven,' s'she.

"'Leaven,' s'I, 'like the Bible?'

"'Huh?' s'she.