"I'm just dying to see your back parlor, my dear, this next Christmas
afternoon. It has always been a sight for sore eyes; but this
Christmas it will be a perfect wonder, for I do declare everybody in
town is going to send you something nice."

This conviction was already chilling Mrs. Budlong's marrow. Of old
she would have rejoiced at the golden triumph, but now she could only
realize that if everybody in Carthage sent her something nice, it was
because everybody in Carthage expected something nicer. And her
Christmas crops were hopelessly backward. At a time when she should
be half done, she could not even begin. She had not tatted or
smeared or hammered a thing.




VI

DESPAIR AND AN IDEA

Days and days went by in a stupor of dull hopelessness. Thanksgiving
came and the Budlong turkey might as well have been a crow. In
desperation she decided to make a tentative exploration of the shops
now burgeoning with Christmas splendor; every window a spasm of
gewgaws. Since she had no time to make, she must buy.

The length of her list sent her to the cheaper counters, but she was
not permitted to browse among them. At Strouther and Streckfuss's, Mr.
Strouther came up and said with reeking unctuousness: