"But you can't never find her at home, Henry," said Mrs. Daggett. "I
been to see her lots of times; but Mis' Solomon Black says she don't
stay in the house hardly long enough to eat her victuals."

"Why don't you take the buggy, Abby, and drive out to the old place?"
suggested Mr. Daggett. "Likely you'll find her there. She appears to
take an interest in every nail that's drove. I can spare the horse
this afternoon just as well as not."

"'Twould be pleasant," purred Mrs. Daggett. "But, I suppose, by
rights, I ought to take Lois along."

"Nope," disagreed her husband, shaking his head. "Don't you take
Lois; she wouldn't talk confiding to Lois, the way she would to you.
You've got a way with you, Abby. I'll bet you could coax a bird off a
bush as easy as pie, if you was a mind to."

Mrs. Daggett's big body shook with soft laughter. She beamed rosily
on her husband.

"How you do go on, Henry!" she protested. "But I ain't going to coax
Lydia Orr off no bush she's set her heart on. She's got the sweetest
face, papa; an' I know, without anybody telling me, whatever she does
or wants to do is _all_ right."

Mr. Daggett had by now invested his portly person in a clean linen
coat, bearing on its front the shining mark of Mrs. Daggett's careful
iron.