gray. "Miss Doris Keith; she's going to
the Chicago University. She knows Sibyl." Then she fished out a package
from the luggage heaped at their feet. "Here's the books. That your ma
on the piazza?"

As if in response, a few hollow moans floated from the rocking-chair.

"She seems in great pain," said Miss Keith, sympathetically.

Emmy's fair skin reddened painfully. "No, she--she isn't well," she
stammered.

Mrs. Conner coughed a dry, inexpressive cough.

"I do wish you would step in and see mother for a minute," Emmy begged,
as much with her eyes as with her voice. "I can hitch the horse if Miss
Keith minds--"

But Miss Keith did not mind; she was quite willing to hold the horse.
And the horse sagging his elderly head, appeared of no mind to move,
whether "held" or no.

"Well?" said Mrs. Conner, when they were out of earshot.

"Mother thinks she is threatened with pleurisy, and she is trying the
starvation cure," answered Emmy. "She hasn't eaten a bite since
yesterday. I'm ashamed to be so late about my washing, but I've been
cooking things all day, trying to tempt her--"

"Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh _dear_!" moaned the figure on the piazza.

Mrs. Conner put her arms akimbo. She looked steadfastly at the swaying
and moaning shape. Mrs. Conner was a woman who had been known to fry
fresh griddle-cakes for tramps. She drew in her breath and exhaled it
explosively, as one that has been shocked out of speech.

"I've made her postum cereal coffee and cooked her granum, and I went
out and begged dewberries from the Bigelows--she used to be fond of
them--and I don't know how many times I've made toast. She says I just
torment her."

"Won't she drink a little beef tea?"

"Oh-h! Oh-h! U-r-r-r! _Ug-h-h-h!_" shuddered the invalid.

"Didn't you know she thinks meat wicked? And milk's robbing the cow, and
eggs robbing the hen, who wants to have a family as much as we do," said
Emily, rather incorrectly.

"More'n some of us do, I guess," retorted Mrs. Conner, "and more'n folks
_ought_ to if they ain't prepared to do their duty by them when they've
got 'em." She launched a fiery glance at Mrs. Darter, who was now
groaning vehemently. "Got it all turned on this afternoon, ain't she?"

"Dr. Abbie Cruller told her that it wasn't natural to suppress
ourselves. If you feel like groaning you ought to groan--"

"And she eats sech queer stuff she's hungry most of the time," Mrs.
Conner interrupted, "so I expect she groans a lo