indisposition; for, like a true gossip,
she scented mischief where she could see none. The minister would let
her have nothing to do with his wife; and if he were out of the house
and she got a chance, she could make nothing of Diana. Nothing certain;
but nothing either that lulled her suspicions. Now, with Mrs. Starling,
there was no telling what she might get at. The lady dismounted and
came into the kitchen, looking about her, as always, with sharp eyes.

"How d'ye do," said she. "Where is Diana?"

"I'm glad to see ye, Mis' Starling, and that's a fact," said the
handmaid. "I was 'most a mind to walk down to your place to-day."

"What's the matter? Where's Diana?"

"Wall, she's up-stairs. She hain't been down now for two days."

"What's the reason?"

"Wall--sun'thin' ain't right; and I don't think the minister's clear
what it is; and _I_ ain't. She was took as sudden--you never see
nothin' suddener--she come in here to fix a dish o' eggs for supper
that she's mighty particler about, and don't think no one can cook eggs
but herself; and I was talkin' and tellin' her about my old experiences
in the post office--and she went up-stairs and took to her bed; and she
hain't left it sen. Now ain't that queer? 'Cause she didn't say nothin'
ailed her; not a word; only she went up and took to her bed; and she
doos look queer at you, that I will say. Mebbe it's fever a comin' on."

There was a minute or two's silence. Mrs. Starling did not immediately
find her tongue.

"What have the post office and your stories got to do with it?" she
asked harshly. "I should like to know."

"Yes,--" said Miss Collins, drawing out the word with affable
intonation,--"that's what beats me. What should they? But la! the post
office is queer; that's what I always said. Everybody gits into it; and
ef you're there, o' course you can't help knowin' things."

"You weren't in the post office!" said Mrs. Starling. "It was none of
_your_ business."

"Warn't I?" said Miss Collins. "Don't you mind better'n that, Mis'
Starling? I mind you comin', and I mind givin' you your letters too; I
mind some 'ticlar big ones, that had stamps enough on to set up a shop.
La, 'tain't no harm. Miss Gunn, she used to feel a sort o' sameness
about allays takin' in and givin' out, and then she'd come into the
kitchen and make cake mebbe, and send me to 'tend the letters and the
folks. And then it was as good as a play to me. Don't you never git
tired o' trottin' a