clothes on his back if he thought
she wanted them," said Blossom, in the effort to turn her musings away
from her own troubles.

"It ain't natural," rejoined Sarah stubbornly. "It's a man's natur to be
mean about money matters whar his wife is concerned, an' when he begins
to be different it's a sign that thar's a screw loose somewhar inside of
him. My Abner was sech a spendthrift that he'd throw away a day's market
prices down at the or'nary, but he used to expect the money from a
parcel of turkeys to keep me in clothes and medicines and doctor's
bills, to say nothin' of household linen an' groceries for the whole
year round."

Blossom sighed softly, "I don't suppose there ever was a man who could
see that a woman needed anything except presents now and then," she
said, "unless it's Abel. Do you know, grandma, I sometimes think he's so
kind to Judy because he knows he doesn't love her."

"Well, I reckon, if thar's got to be a choice between love and kindness,
I'd hold on to kindness," retorted Sarah.

It was ten o'clock before Abel and Judy returned, and from the hurried
and agitated manner of their entrance, it was plain that the Bible class
had not altogether appeased Judy's temper.

"She's worn out, that's the matter," explained Abel, while they stopped
to dry themselves in the kitchen.

"You go straight upstairs to bed, Judy," said Sarah, "an' I'll send you
up a cup of gruel by Abel. You oughtn't to have gone streakin' out in
this rain, an' it's natural that it should have upset you."

"It wasn't the rain," replied Judy, and the instant afterwards, she
burst into tears and ran out of the room before they could stop her.

"I declar', I never saw anybody carry on so in my life," observed Sarah.

Abel glanced at her with a perplexed and anxious frown on his brow. "You
ought to be patient with her condition," he said. His own patience
was inexhaustible, and its root, as Blossom had suspected, lay in his
remorseful indifference. With Molly he had not been patient, but he had
loved her.

"Don't talk to me about patience," rejoined Sarah, "haven't I had nine
an' lost six?"

She was entirely without the sentiment which her son felt regarding the
physical function of motherhood, for like the majority of sentiments, it
had worn thin when it had been stretched over a continual repetition of
facts. To Abel the mystery was still shrouded in a veil of sympathy,
and was hardly to be thought of without tenderness. But