in my lap an' cried like a baby. I never railly loved 'er
before, but I did then. Somehow she seemed to be my own mother come
back to life ag'in. But she didn't shout an' take on like the rest.
She jest cried an' cried an' had the youngest look on 'er face I ever
seed on a ol' person. Once she said, sez she, 'I'm goin' back to put a
grave-rock over Jasper's remains,' an' then I remembered folks said she
wus too stingy to do that when Dawson died. She looked like she wanted
to talk about you, but I didn't feel called on to fetch up the subject.
After awhile she went out to the wagon whar her carpet-bag wus, an' got
up in one o' the cheers an' begun to stitch on some'n. I wus puzzled
right sharp, fer it wus a Sunday, an' it looked like a funny thing fer
a body to do, but atter awhile she come to me with some'n wrapped up in
a paper--I'll show it to you in a minute--an' give it to me. It was a
pair uv her best knit wool socks. You know some old women think it's a
mark o' great respect to give a pair o' socks to anybody that they've
knit the'rselves.

"'I want you to take the socks,' sez she, 'an' give 'em to the right
person,' sez she, awful bashful like. You know, John, I don't believe
all the religion this side o' the burnin' lake kin make some folks beg
a body's pardon, not ef they wanted to wuss than anything on earth.
She is one o' that sort. I 'lowed right off 'at the socks wus fer you
an' started to tell 'er how glad you'd be to git 'em when, all at once,
I noticed a letter M worked in red wool on 'em. It was a letter M as
plain as anything could be, a big letter M, 'an' that throwed me. Then
I thought about Brother Mitchell's name beginnin' with a M, an' so I
said, sez I, 'So you want me to give 'em to Brother Mitchell, do you?'
An' 'en she flared up. 'Who said a word about Brother Mitchell?' she
axed. I seed she wusn't pleased by my mistake, an' so I tried my level
best to think o' somebody else with a M to his name, but I couldn't to
save my neck, so at last I give it up. 'Yo're entirely too mysterious
fer me, Mis' Dawson,' sez I. 'I can't, fer the life o' me, think uv
one soul you know whose name begins with a M.' 'M,' sez she, 'who said
that was a letter M? Yo're jest a-puttin' on. You know that ain't no
M.'

"'That's what it is,' sez I. 'I haven't waited till I'm old enough to
have gran'children to l'arn my a b c's.'

"She snatched the socks frum me, an' I 'lowed she wus goin' to throw