gasped when she appeared out-of-doors,
carrying a little household ladder, a pail of steaming water and sundry
voluminous white cloths. She reared the little ladder against the side
of the house mounted it cautiously, and began to wash windows: with
housewifely thoroughness. Her stout figure was swathed in a grey sweater
and on her head was a battered felt hat--the sort of window-washing
costume that has been worn by women from time immemorial. We noticed
that she used plenty of hot water and clean rags, and that she rubbed
the glass until it sparkled, leaning perilously sideways on the ladder
to detect elusive streaks. Our keenest housekeeping eye could find no
fault with the way Blanche Devine washed windows.

By May, Blanche Devine had left off her diamond eardrops--perhaps it was
their absence that gave her face a new expression. When she went down
town we noticed that her hats were more like the hats the other women in
our town wore; but she still affected extravagant footgear, as is right
and proper for a stout woman who has cause to be vain of her feet. We
noticed that her trips down town were rare that spring and summer. She
used to come home laden with little bundles; and before supper she would
change her street clothes for a neat, washable housedress, as is our
thrifty custom. Through her bright windows we could see her moving
briskly about from kitchen to sitting room; and from the smells that
floated out from her kitchen door, she seemed to be preparing for her
solitary supper the same homely viands that were frying or stewing or
baking in our kitchens. Sometimes you could detect the delectable scent
of browning hot tea biscuit. It takes a brave, courageous, determined
woman to make tea biscuit for no one but herself.

Blanche Devine joined the church. On the first Sunday morning she came
to the service there was a little flurry among the ushers at the
vestibule door. They seated her well in the rear. The second Sunday
morning a dreadful thing happened. The woman next to whom they seated
her turned, regarded her stonily for a moment, then rose agitatedly and
moved to a pew across the aisle. Blanche Devine's face went a dull red
beneath her white powder. She never came again--though we saw the
minister visit her once or twice. She always accompanied him to the door
pleasantly, holding it well open until he was down the little flight of
steps and on the sidewalk. The minister's wife did not call--but, then,