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He's gone up to the Mills, 'n' it's my opinion he's gone to speak to the minister." "He hed somethin' in the back o' the wagon covered up with an old linen lap robe; 't ain't at all likely he 'd 'a' hed that if he'd ben goin' to the minister's," objected Mrs. Jot. "Anybody'd think you was born yesterday, to hear you talk, Diademy," retorted her mother-in-law.
Diademy calls 'em in 'n' gives 'em a cooky every time they go past, 'n' they eat as if they was famished. Rube Hobson never was any kind of a pervider, 'n' he's consid'able snug besides." "He ain't goin' to better himself much," said Almira. "Eunice Emery ain't fit to housekeep for a cat.
"Whoever he marries now, Mis' Bascom'll have to say 't was the one she meant," laughed the Widow Buzzell. "I never was caught cheatin' yet, and if I live till Saturday I shall be seventy-one years old," said the old lady with some heat. "Hand me Jot's lead pencil, Diademy, and that old envelope on the winder sill. I'll write the name I think of, and shut it up in the old Bible.
Bascom, "but no new wash-boiler has gone into Rube Hobson's door in the daytime for many a year, and I'll be bound it means somethin'. There goes a broom, too. Much sweepin' he'll get out o' Eunice; it's a slick 'n' a promise with her!" "When did you begin to suspicion this, Diademy?" asked Almira Berry.
"Their land joinin' made courtin' come dretful handy. She's wed his onion bed for him two summers, as I happen to know, for I've been ou' doors more 'n common this summer, tryin' to fetch my constitution up. Diademy, don't you want to look out the back way 'n' see if Rube's come home yet?" "He ain't," said old Mrs. Bascom, "so you needn't look; can't you see the curtains is all down?
Don't break my neck, Diademy; can't you see out the other winder? Yes, he's helpin' her out, 'n' showin' her in. He can't 'a' ben married more'n ten minutes, for he's goin' clear up the steps to open the door for her!" "Wait 'n' see if he takes his horse out," said Hannah Sophia. "Mebbe he'll drive her back in a few minutes. ... No, he's onhitched! ... There, he's hangin' up the head-stall!"
"They say Lucindy's dead. ... Jot says she is, 'n' Diademy says she is, 'n' I guess she is. ... It 's a dretful thick year for fol'age; ... some o' the maples looks like balls in the air." Mote looked in at the window. The neighbors were hurrying to and fro. Diadema sat with her calico apron up to her face, sobbing; and for the first morning in thirty years, old Mrs.
"'Mary's love may I possess, Lydia's tender-heartedness, Peter's fervent spirit feel, James's faith by works reveal, Like young Timothy may I Every sinful passion fly. "'Oh Diademy, she 'd say, 'you was always the best, and it 's nothing more 'n right the baby should have come to you.
P'r'aps God will think I'm good enough some time; and if he does, Diademy, I'll offer up a sacrifice every morning and every evening. But I'm afraid, says she, 'he thinks I can't stand any more happiness, and be a faithful follower of the cross. The Bible says we 've got to wade through fiery floods before we can enter the kingdom.
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