window--washing costume that has been worn by women from time
immemorial. We noticed that she used plenty of hot water and
clean rags, and that she rubbed the glass until it sparkled,
leaning perilously sideways on the ladder to detect elusive
streaks. Our keenest housekeeping eye could find no fault with
the way Blanche Devine washed windows.

By May, Blanche Devine had left off her diamond eardrops--perhaps
it was their absence that gave her face a new expression. When
she went downtown we noticed that her hats were more like the
hats the other women in our town wore; but she still affected
extravagant footgear, as is right and proper for a stout woman
who has cause to be vain of her feet. We noticed that her trips
downtown were rare that spring and summer. She used to come home
laden with little bundles; and before supper she would change her
street clothes for a neat, washable housedress, as is our thrifty
custom. Through her bright windows we could see her moving
briskly about from kitchen to sitting room; and from the smells
that floated out from her kitchen door, she seemed to be
preparing for her solitary supper the same homely viands that
were frying or stewing or baking in our kitchens. Sometimes you
could detect the delectable scent of browning, hot tea biscuit.
It takes a determined woman to make tea biscuit for no one but
herself.

Blanche Devine joined the church. On the first Sunday morning
she came to the service there was a little flurry among the
ushers at the vestibule door. They seated her well in the rear.
The second Sunday morning a dreadful thing happened. The woman
next to whom they seated her turned, regarded her stonily for a