An excited buzz of comment in the front of the store broke in upon
this confidential conversation. Mrs. Black appeared to become aware
for the first time of the score of masculine eyes fixed upon her.

"Ain't you got any of the Golden Rule?" she demanded sharply. "That
looks like it to me--over in behind them cans of tomatoes. It's got a
blue label."

"Why, yes; here 'tis, sure enough," admitted Mr. Daggett. "I guess I
must be losing my eyesight.... It's going to be quite a chore to fix
up the old Bolton house," he added, as he inserted the blue labeled
can of reputation in a red and yellow striped paper bag.

"That ain't decided," snapped Mrs. Black. "She could do better than
to buy that tumble-down old shack."

"So she could; so she could," soothed the postmaster. "But it's going
to be a good thing for the creditors, if she can swing it. Let me
see, you wa'n't a loser in the Bolton Bank; was you, Mis' Black?"

"No; I wa'n't; my late departed husband had too much horse-sense."

And having thus impugned less fortunate persons, Mrs. Solomon Black
departed, a little stiffer as to her back-bone than when she entered.
She had imparted information; she had also acquired it. When she had
returned rather later than usual from selling her strawberries in
Grenoble she had hurried her vegetables on to boil and set the table
for dinner. She could hear the minister pacing up and down his room
in the restless way which Mrs. Black secretly resented, since it