"He don't never complain o' the heat, 'n' he hates the chill o' rainy
days."

Mrs. Lathrop coughed again.

Miss Clegg's interest bordered on impatience.

"Now, Susan, I ain't sayin' as it's noways true, but I _have_ heard as
there's them 's can't die on--"

"On feathers?" cried the daughter.

"Yes; they say they hold the life right in 'n'--"

Miss Clegg's eyes opened widely.

"But I couldn't take it away from him, anyhow," she said, with a
species of determined resignation in her voice. "I'd have to wait
'till he wanted it took."

Mrs. Lathrop was silent. Then she rose to go. Susan rose too. They
went out the kitchen door together, and down the steps. There they
paused to part.

"Do you believe 't it 'd be any use me thinkin' o' Jathrop any more?"
the maiden asked the matron.

"I believe I'd try the blacksmith if I was you; he looks mighty nice
Sundays."