"Here lieth a woman whose name was Betts,
An' I s'pose she'll deserve whatever she gets;
But if she hadn't been Betts she might 'a' been Better,
She might even been Best if her name would 'a' let her."

"Susan!" gasped Mrs. McGuire once more; but Susan only chuckled again
wickedly, and fell to work on her basket of clothes in good earnest.

A moment later she was holding up with stern disapproval two socks
with gaping heels.

"Keith Burton, here's them scandalous socks again! Now, do you go tell
your father that I won't touch 'em. I won't mend 'em another once. He
must get you a new pair--two new pairs, right away. Do you hear?"

But Keith did not hear. Keith was not there to hear. Still with that
strained, white look on his face he had hurried out of the yard and
through the gate.

Mrs. McGuire, however, did hear.

"My stars, Susan Betts, it's lucky your bark is worse than your bite!"
she exclaimed. "Mend 'em, indeed! They won't be dry before you've got
your darnin' egg in 'em."

Susan laughed ruefully. Then she sighed:--at arms' length she was
holding up another pair of yawning socks.

"I know it. And look at them, too," she snapped, in growing wrath.