ne would rent it for her. Oh, but you may call me unnatural
and all that sort of thing, but you don't know what I've had to contend
with. My first husband died a drunkard. Many a time I've hauled him home
almost frozen. He'd leave me without a bite to eat and spend every cent
of money he had. And many a time I told him I'd pour whiskey on him
after he was dead--and I did--yes, you bet! I said, 'Now go soak in it
throughout eternity.' Ah, Lord, one person don't know how another one
lives. I've had nothin' but trouble, trouble--all the time trouble."

"We all have our troubles, madam."

"Hush your mouth. You don't know what troubles are. Think of havin' to
fight with your own blood kin, your own children. Think of your own
daughter slanderin' you, and your own son havin' you arrested!"

"I expect you've had a pretty hard life, Mrs. Stuvic."

"Hard life! That don't tell half of it."

"And yet you want to stay here longer."

"What! Do you reckon I want to give Nan a chance to drag that cat over
my grave?"

"Let her drag it. What's the difference? You won't know anything about
it."

"But how do I know that? And I'd be in a pretty fix, havin' her drag a
cat over me and not bein' able to help myself. No, I want to wait till
she dies, the unnatural thing."

"Can't you make it up with her?"

"Make it up with her? Do you reckon I want to make it up with her? Do
you reckon I'd stoop that much?"

"You call her unnatural. Don't you think you may be just a little
unnatural yourself?"

"Now, look here, if you're goin' to take her part you march yourself off
this place."

"I'm not taking her part. I don't know her."

"Then keep still. Don't you think you'd better come over to the house
and stay durin' the winter?"

"No, I'd rather stay over there."

"All by yourself?"

"Bob'll be there."

"Land's sakes, are you goin' to keep him all winter? I thought you had
more sense than to put on such lugs. But you've got to come over here
every night or two. I don't want to die here alone."

A boy on a horse rode up to the gate. The old woman went out to him. She
came running back, with her limp hands flapping in the air. Her sister
had sent for her. She begged Milford to hitch up the pony as fast as he
could. She said that he must drive her over there.

On the road she did not speak a word, except to give directions. She sat
stiff and grim. Persons whom they passed stared at her, straight,
squaw-like, with a hawk feathe