Mrs. Wilson Woodrow

“ There ain't no woman that don't want a man to love her.” She put her head down on the table and sobbed afresh.
The women exchanged scornful and shocked glances over her head. “I guess we'd best leave you to yourself, Marthy Thomas,” said Mrs. Evans, rising. “If you're in such a frame of mind that you've got to sass the Missioner, you'll be throwin' things at the rest of us. An' Thomas hardly cold in his grave yet,” she exclaimed virtuously as she closed the door behind the little party of visitors. “Ain't she the limit? Lord save me from an undecided slob that don't know her own mind.” ”

“ Thomas's soul problem and I didn't help her solve it. I just got mad and quit.”
“Such is life,” murmured Mrs. Landvetter, with some vague attempt at consolation. “You can't neffer tell.”
“Take it back, Landvetter,” returned Mrs. Nitschkan practically, brushing a bit of adhering clay from her short skirt. “Take it back. Life ain't nothin' so cantankerous. You mean, 'such is men.'” ”

“ The inherent narrowness of the feminine nature, its unswerving devotion to the traditional dogmas of womanliness, now expressed itself in every line of her face and figure.
“I don't think any woman has any call to talk as you are doing,” she said with grave reproof. ”

“ The Missionary who had walked silently down the little path leading to the paling gate, now spoke.
“I do not think it is worth while trying to do anything more with Mrs. Thomas. She is completely under that man's influence. As for him,” she added grimly, “a good, strong man should deal with him.”
“That is so,” responded Mrs. Evans, “but I don't know one that's got any call to mix in, unless it's Dan Mayhew. He's her trustee an' he might do something with her.”
“Dan's an awful sensible man,” said Mrs. Landvetter gloomily. ”

“ I'd have a picnic every day in the year.”
“Aw, shut up, Nitschkan,” said Mrs. Evans, trim as a neat, brown wren “Don't be putting such ideas into Mis' Thomas's head. Every woman don't want to go gypsyin' like you. Some of us has got a little respectability and domestication. You go ahead, Mis' Thomas, an' get your parlor fixed up. Have some style about you; an' fer the land's sake, whitewash the kitchen. It's scaling something fierce.” ”

“ Evans, while her sisters gasped and gazed at one another. She sprang to her feet and drew up her tiny figure to the fullest. “You must think we ain't got nothin' to do, Dan Mayhew, but look after that over-grown baby? Maybe you think we ain't got husbands and childern an' houses to mind? Oh, yes, we ought to let them go to look after Marthy Thomas that ain't got sense enough to tend to her own business.” ”

“ Nitschkan, a teasing gleam in her small, bright blue eyes.
'Maybe you would,” returned Mrs. Evans, with an emphasis upon the pronoun, “but it wouldn't make no show when folks come to the house. You know everybody'll want to know what you done with Thomas's insurance,” speaking authoritatively to Mrs. Thomas, “and you know yourself it'll look real frivolous to show 'em a horse an' cart, an' the house needin' paint, an' the nap all off the plush in the parlor set; an' the pillow-shams on the parlor bed only scalloped, not a shred of lace on 'em. ”

“ You didn't show her no human sympathy. You're a cold-blooded lot. Oh, I know the whole of you. I could read your pedigrees from the beginning. It couldn't be expected that you'd understand her. She ain't made out of the same kind of clay that you are. She's trustin', that's what she is, trustin' and confidin'; but what's the use of trustin' in flint an' confidin' in ice?”
“'Hello, girls,' he answered heartily”
“My Gawd, Dan Mayhew! Air you a jumpin' on us 'cause Marthy Thomas is a D. F.?” asked Mrs. Evans shrilly. ”

“ Mrs. Evans looked at her with protecting pride and admiration. “That's all right, Miss Benson; but we got to get away from God to man this morning. Marthy Thomas has got a soul problem, an' 'course, she don't know what to do with it no more'n a kitten. She sent Vi'let and Clemency over with a note a while back, an' I just loped on to find you.” She held out a crumpled bit of paper, whereon was scrawled in painful characters:
'Mis' Evans, won't you get Missioner' and come here. ”

“ While in this frame of mind, she read in the Mt. Tabor Review, a weekly paper which disseminated the news of the entire county, the fact that Professor Alexis Hartshorn, the distinguished astrologer, palmist, crystal gazer, and psychic reader, was located at Mt. Tabor for a few weeks, and could be consulted at his rooms in Lamont Street from 9 a.m. until 9 p.m. each day. ”

“ Evans.
“She's so lonesome, bein' a widow, an' she wanted somebody to love her,” mimicked Mrs. Nitschkan in a small voice, imitating closely Mrs. Thomas's lisp and coy manner.
The women rocked back and forth on their boulders with bursts of laughter.
“Aw, for the Lord's sake!”—exclaimed Mayhew disgustedly. “I wisht women had some sense. Missioner, can you tell me what this is all about?”
“It is just as these ladies say,” remarked Miss Benson coldly. She had small sympathy for the culprit and was actuated in her present course solely by a sense of duty. “Mrs. ”