r XVII

Sue Dawson leaned on the front gate at the Bradleys'.

"Hello! Hello! Hello! in thar!" she cried, in a shrill, piping voice.
No one replied. "I'm a good mind to go in anyway," she thought. "I
reckon they hain't got no bitin' dog." She raised the iron ring from
the post and drew the sagging gate through the grooves worn in the
pebbly ground and entered the yard. The front and back doors were
open, and she could see a portion of the back yard through the hall.

No one seemed to be in the house. A young chicken had hopped up the
back steps, crossed the entry, and was stalking about in the hall
chirping hollowly, as if bewildered by its surroundings. Across the
rear door a sudden gust of wind blew a wisp of smoke, and then it
occurred to Mrs. Dawson that some one might be in the back yard. She
drove the chicken before her as she stalked through the hall.

Martha Bradley was making soap. With her back to the house, she was
stirring a boiling mixture of grease and lye in a large wash-pot.
Under the eaves of the kitchen stood an ash-hopper, from the bottom of
which trickled a tiny amber stream.

"Howdy, Marthy?" said Mrs. Dawson, behind Mrs. Bradley's back. "It was
so still in the house, I 'lowed you wus all dead an' buried."

Mrs. Bradley turned and dropped her paddle. "Why, ef it hain't Mis'
Dawson, as I'm alive! Whar on earth are you bound fer?"

"Jest come over fer a day ur so," was the reply. "I thought some o'
stoppin' at the hotel, but, on second thought, I 'lowed you an' Luke
mought think strange ef I did, so heer I am."

"I've al'ays got room fer a old neighbor, an' you'd a-been lonely at
the hotel. I'm glad you come, but--" Mrs. Bradley took up her paddle
and began to stir the contents of the pot. "I reckon, I ortter tell
you, plain, Mis' Dawson, that John Westerfelt is stayin' with us.
We've got plenty o' room fer you both, but I thought it mought not be
exactly agreeable fer you."

A spiteful fire kindled in Mrs. Dawson's eyes. "It mought upset _him_
a little speck, Marthy, but I hain't done nothin' to be ashamed uv
myse'f."

Mrs. Bradley went to the ash-hopper and filled a dipper with lye and
poured it into the pot. Then she wiped her hands on her apron. "John
Westerfelt's had enough trouble to kill a ordinary man, Mis' Dawson,"
she said, "an' I'm his friend to the backbone; ef you've got any
ill-will agin 'im, don't mention it to me. Besides, now would be a
good time fer y