ss they would. Anybody that wanted to make a Shaker out o' her
would 'a' had to begin with her grandmother; and that wouldn't 'a' done
nuther, for they don't b'lieve in marryin', and the thing would 'a'
stopped right there, and Gray wouldn't never 'a' been born int' the
world."

"And been a great sight better off," interpolated Miss Vilda.

"Now don't talk that way, Vildy. Who knows what lays ahead o' that
child? The Lord may be savin' her up to do some great work for Him," she
added, with a wild flight of the imagination.

"She looks like it, don't she?" asked Vilda with a grim intonation; but
her face softened a little as she glanced at Gay asleep on the rustic
bench under the window.

The picture would have struck terror to the sad-eyed aesthete, but an
artist who liked to see colors burn and glow on the canvas would have
been glad to paint her: a little frock of buttercup yellow calico, bare
neck and arms, full of dimples, hair that put the yellow calico to shame
by reason of its tinge of copper, skin of roses and milk that dared the
microscope, red smiling lips, one stocking and ankle-tie kicked off and
five pink toes calling for some silly woman to say "This little pig went
to market" on them, a great bunch of nasturtiums in one warm hand and
the other buried in Rags, who was bursting with the white cat's dinner,
and in such a state of snoring bliss that his tail wagged occasionally,
even in his dreams.

"She don't look like a missionary, if that's what you mean," said
Samantha hotly. "She may not be called 'n' elected to traipse over to
Africy with a Test'ment in one hand 'n' a sun umbreller in the other,
savin' souls by the wholesale; but 't ain't no mean service to go
through the world stealin' into folks' hearts like a ray o' sunshine,
'n' lightin' up every place you step foot in!"

"I ain't sayin' anything against the child, Samanthy Ann; you said
yourself she wa'n't cut out for a Shaker!"

"No more she is," laughed Samantha, when her good humor was restored.
"She'd like the singin' 'n' dancin' well enough, but 't would be hard
work smoothin' the kink out of her hair 'n' fixin' it under one o' their
white Sunday bunnets. She wouldn't like livin' altogether with the
women-folks, nuther. The only way for Gay 'll be to fetch her right up
with the men-folks, 'n' hev her see they ain't no great things, anyway.
Land sakes! If 't warn't for dogs 'n' dark nights, I shouldn't care if I
never see a man; but Gay