your parlor the year aroun'."

Susan paused to shake her head and use her pocket-handkerchief over
her souvenirs in general. Mrs. Lathrop sat dumb and attentive.

"Marion Prim was her name," the narrator continued presently, "'n' she
writ it from Knoxville fifty-one years ago come last October. Did
_you_ ever hear of her?"

Mrs. Lathrop screwed her face up thoughtfully, but was forced to screw
it into a negation after all.

"Seems funny 't father never spoke o' her after mother was so far past
bein' jealous 's to be buried. He c'd 'a' said anythin' about anybody
them years, 'n' 'f I had time to listen I'd 'a' been bound to hear,
but to my certain knowledge he never said one word o' family 'xcept to
remark over 'n' over 's he thanked the Lord Almighty 's he had n't got
none, which words I naturally took 's signifyin' 's he was speakin'
the truth. Still a man is a man, 'n' this letter proves 's you can't
even be sure o' one 's has been in bed under your own eye f'r twenty
years, f'r it not only shows 's he did have a relation, but it shows
suthin' else too; it shows me, 's has had four men all tryin' to marry
me inside o' the same week, 't suthin' pretty close to love-makin' 'd
passed between her 's wrote this letter 'n' him 's kept it carefully
hid away till long after he was dead. There's a shakiness about the
writin' 'n' a down-hilledness about the lines 's lets me right into
the secret o' their hearts, 'n' I'm willin' to venture a guess 't
Cousin Marion c'd get money out o' father with less pain 'n mother
could, under which circumstances I don't blame mother for closin' down
on the subjeck.