, Miss Sally Ruth
Dexter promptly comes to her side of the fence to look him over. She
came this morning, looked at our man critically, and showed plain
disapproval of him in every line of her face.

On principle Miss Sally Ruth disapproves of most men and many women.
She does not believe in wasting too much sympathy upon people either;
she says folks get no more than they deserve and generally not half as
much.

Miss Sally Ruth Dexter is a rather important person in Appleboro. She
is fifty-six years old, stout, brown-eyed, suffers from a congenital
incapacity to refrain from telling the unwelcome truth when people are
madly trying to save their faces,--she calls this being frank,--is
tactless, independent, generous, and the possessor of what she herself
complacently refers to as "a Figure."

For a woman so convinced we're all full of natural and total
depravity, unoriginal sinners, worms of the dust, and the devil's
natural fire-fodder, Miss Sally Ruth manages to retain a simple and
unaffected goodness of practical charity toward the unelect, such as
makes one marvel. You may be predestined to be lost, but while you're
here you shall lack no jelly, wine, soup, chicken-with-cream,
preserves, gumbo, neither such marvelous raised bread as Miss Sally
Ruth knows how to make with a perfection beyond all praise.

She has a tiny house and a tiny income, which satisfies her; she has
never married. She told my mother once, cheerfully, that she guessed
she must be one of those born eunuchs of the spirit the Bible
mentions--it was intended for her, and she was glad of it, for it had
certainly saved her a sight of worry and trouble.

There is a cherished legend in our town that Major Appleby Cartwright
once went over to Savannah on a festive occasion and was there
joyously entertained by the honorable the Chatham Artillery. The
Chatham Artillery brews a Punch; insidious, delectable, deceptive, but
withal a pernicious strong drink that is raging, a wine that mocketh
and maketh mad. And they gave it to Major Appleby Cartwright in
copious draughts.

Coming home upon the heels of this, the major arose, put on his Prince
Albert, donned his top hat, picked a huge bunch of zinnias, and at
nine o'clock in the morning marched over to Miss Sally Ruth Dexter's.

We differ as to certain unimportant details of that historic call, but
we are in the main agreed upon the conversation that ensued.

"Sally Ruth," said the major, depositing