of the entire neighbourhood. Each recipe was duly
accredited to its original author, and there were many newspaper
clippings, from the despised "Woman's Page" in various journals.

Ruth thought it would be an act of kindness to paste the loose clippings
into Aunt Jane's book, and she could look them over as she fastened them
in. The work progressed rapidly, until she found a clipping which
was not a recipe. It was a perfunctory notice of the death of Charles
Winfield, dated almost eighteen years ago.

She remembered the various emotions old newspapers had given her when
she first came to Aunt Jane's. This was Abigail Weatherby's husband--he
had survived her by a dozen years. "I'm glad it's Charles Winfield
instead of Carl," thought Ruth, as she put it aside, and went on with
her work.

"Pantry's come," announced Winfield, a few days later; "I didn't open
it, but I think everything is there. Joe's going to bring it up."

"Then you can come to dinner Sunday," answered Ruth, smiling.

"I'll be here," returned Winfield promptly. "What time do we dine?"

"I don't know exactly. It's better to wait, I think, until Hepsey goes
out. She always regards me with more or less suspicion, and it makes me
uncomfortable."

Sunday afternoon, the faithful Joe drove up to the gate, and Hepsey
emerged from her small back room, like a butterfly from a chrysalis. She
was radiant in a brilliant blue silk, which was festooned at irregular
intervals with white silk lace. Her hat was bending beneath its burden
of violets and red roses, starred here and there with some unhappy
buttercups which had survived the wreck of a previous millinery triumph.
Her hands were encased in white cotton gloves, which did not fit.

With Joe's assistance, she entered the vehicle and took her place
proudly on the back seat, even while he pleaded for her to sit beside
him.

"You know yourself that I can't drive nothin' from the back seat," he
complained.

"Nobody's askin' you to drive nothin' from nowhere," returned Hepsey,
scornfully. "If you can't take me out like a lady, I ain't a-goin'."

Ruth was dazzled by the magnificence of the spectacle and was unable to
take her eyes away from it, even after Joe had turned around and started
down hill. She thought Winfield would see them pass his door and time
his arrival accordingly, so she was startled when he came up behind her
and said, cheerfully:

"They look like a policeman's, don't they?"

"What--who?