he front wheel and
direct the white driver--they could not hear her voice, but they read
the signs of her hands--to put the few pieces of furniture on the
porch. This done, the wagon clattered away, and Mrs. Dawson, with
hanging head, came into the passage and went to her old room.

"What in the name o' goodness do you reckon she's goin' to do?" gasped
Mrs. Slogan, quite pale and cold. "I'm nearly skeerd to death."

"She's got a faint idee 'at she's goin' to put up heer with us,"
answered Peter with considerable concern for a man of his phlegmatic
temperament. "They say crazy folks jest natcherly drift back into
the'r old ruts, an' the best way is to let 'em alone. Ef she kin feed
'erself we'll be in luck; some crazy folks jest gaum the'rselves from
head to foot an' have to have constant attention."

"But you ain't a-goin' to let 'er stay, are you?" cried his wife.

Peter smiled grimly and went to the mantel-piece for his foul-smelling
comforter. He also pulled down from a nail on the wall a dry stalk of
tobacco and proceeded to crush and crumble some of the crisp leaves in
his big palm.

"Me? I don't see 'at I've got a thing to say in the matter," he
retorted, with a grimace that bore a slight resemblance to a smile.
"You wus tellin' me jest t'other day 'at the lan' an' house wus in yore
name an' her'n, an' 'at I had no right to put in. I reckon you'll have
to manage 'er, Clariss."

Mrs. Slogan sank back on the bench of the loom, but she didn't set the
thing in motion; she had an idea that the slightest sound might draw
the attention of the bustling inmate of the room across the passage,
and just then she was not prepared to exchange greetings.

Peter stood at the window, his head now enveloped in smoke, and kept
peering out at the porch from which Mrs. Dawson was moving the various
articles pertaining to her bed, such as slats, posts, railings,
mattress, pillows, sheets, and coverings.

"She's as busy as a hoss's tail in fly-time," he observed. "Oh, Lawsy
mercy!"

This last ejaculation came out with such startled emphasis that his
wife let her mouth fall open as she waited for him to explain. But
Peter only stretched his neck towards the window, holding his pipe
behind him to keep from setting fire to the curtain.

"Oh, Peter, what is it?"

"She hain't fetched a sign of a thing to cook with," he replied. "I
kinder thought I heerd a clatter in that wagon as it driv' off; she's
give 'er coffee-po