"Well," answered Mother, as she shaded her eyes with her other hand
to look far up the Road toward the Ridge over which they were
waiting for the Doctor's horse to appear, "looks like often hands a-
reaching out for help gives strength before they takes any, and a
little hope planted in another body's garden is apt to fly a seed
and sprout in your own patch. There he is--let's hurry in the
biscuits!"




CHAPTER II

THE SINGER LADY AND THE BREAD-BOWL


"Well, I don't know as I'd like to have her messing around my
kitchen and house, a stranger and a curious one at that. But you
always was kinder soft, Mis' Mayberry," said Mrs. Peavey as she
glanced with provoked remonstrance at Mother Mayberry, who went
calmly on attending to the needs of a fresh hatching of young
chickens. Mrs. Peavey lived next door to the Doctor's house and the
stone wall that separated the two families was not in any way a
barrier to her frequent neighborly and critical visitations. She was
meager of stature and soul, and the victim of a devouring fire of
curiosity which literally licked up the fagots of human events that
came in her way. She was the fly that kicked perpetually in Mother
Mayberry's cruse of placid ointment, but received as full a mead of
that balm of friendship as any woman on the Road.