determined not to blush any more at the thought of that gorgeous man--at
least outwardly.

"Don't you think it is very--very lonely to be a widow, Mrs. Johnson?" I
asked timidly to see what she would say about Mr. Johnson, who is really
lovely, I think. He gives me the gentlest understanding smile when he
meets me on the street of late weeks.

"Lonely, _lonely_, Molly? You talk about the married state exactly
like an old maid. Don't do it--it's foolish, and you will get the lone
notion really fastened in your mind and let some fool man find out that
is how you feel. Then it will be all over with you. I have only one
regret, and it is that if I ever should be a widow Mr. Johnson wouldn't
be here to see how quickly I turned into an old maid, by the grace of
God." Mrs. Johnson sews by assassinating the cloth with the needle, and
as she talked she was mending the sleeve of one of Mr. Johnson's shirts.

"I think an old maid is just a woman who has never been in love with a
man who loves her. Lots of them have been married for years," I said,
just as innocently as the soft face of a pan of cream, and went on
darning one of Billy's socks.

"Well, be that as it may, they are the blessed members of the women
tribe," she answered, looking at me sharply. "Now I have often told
Mr. Johnson--" but here we were interrupted in what might have been the
rehearsal of a glorious scrap by the appearance of Aunt Bettie Pollard,
and with her came a long, tall, lovely vision of a woman in the most
wonderful close clingy dress and hat that you wanted to eat on sight.
I hated her instantly with the most intense adoration that made me want
to lie down at her feet, and also made me feel like I had gained all the