bags to suffering or jest playing your tune on the wash-board at
home. It's a part of his hallelujah chorus in which we've all got to
join."

"Well, I shorely drawed the wash-board fer my instrumint," answered
Mrs. Peavey with a vindictive look across the wall at a line of
clothes fluttering in the breeze.

"And they ain't nobody in Providence that turns out as white a
shirt-song as you do, Hettie Ann. Buck and Mr. Peavey are just
looked at in church Sundays fer the color of they collars," Mother
hastened to say with pride in the glance that followed Mrs. Peavey's
across the wall. "Ain't Tom always a-contriving with you to sneak
one of his shirts into your wash, so as not to hurt me and Cindy's
feelings? I don't see how you get 'em so white."

"Elbow grease and nothing else," answered Mrs. Peavey in a tone of
voice that refused to be mollified. "I've got to be a-going."

"Just wait and look at these chickens; ain't they pretty? Tom sent
all the way to Indiany fer the settin' of eggs fer me and I've just
been a-watching the day for 'em to hatch. I feel they are a-going to
be a credit to me and I'm glad I gave 'em to Ruffle Neck to set on.
She's such a good hoverer and can be depended on to run from the
rain. Now ain't they pretty?" and Mother even looked at Mrs. Peavey
with hope for a word of sympathy in her pleasure--after a thirty
years' experience with her neighbor.

"No," answered her friend, "I don't hold with no fancy chickens.
Just good dominicks is all I've got any faith in and not much in