"Where is that
man? He's never 'round when he's wanted."
"What is it, Marthy?" said a voice behind her. Turning, she saw her
husband puffing away at his brierwood pipe.
"I thought you went out to the barn," said she, "to help Abner hitch
up?"
"Wall, I did," he replied; "but it didn't take two on us long to do
that. I eat so much chicken salad that it laid kinder heavy on my
stummick, so I went out in the wood-shed to have a smoke. But where did
you git all that money?"
"Mr. Sawyer took the front room for two weeks and paid for it ahead, and
do you know he said my chicken salad was jist as good as Mrs. Young and
Mrs. Parker makes down to Bosting."
"I don't know Mrs. Young nor Mrs. Parker," said Jonas, "but on makin'
chicken salad I'll match Mrs. Hawkins agin 'em any day;" and he went out
in the wood-shed to finish his smoke.
As Quincy walked down the road towards the Pettengill house his mind was
busy with his thoughts.
"To think," said he to himself, "that while I was listening to those
stories, to call them by no worse name, at the dinner table, the woman I
love was witnessing the death agony and listening to the last words of a
dear friend--the woman who's going to leave her a fortune.
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