"I--I wouldn't 'a' spoke of it," stammered the man, with painful
hesitation, "only--well, ye see, I--you-" he stopped helplessly.

"I know," faltered the little woman. "You was thinkin' of--Alma."

"She wouldn't do it--Alma wouldn't!" retorted the man sharply, almost
before his wife had ceased speaking.

"No, no, of course not; but--Nahtan, ye don't think Alma'd ever
be--ashamed of us, do ye?"

"'Course not!" asserted Nathan, but his voice shook. "Don't ye worry,
Mary," he comforted. "Alma ain't a-goin' ter do no kerrectin' of us."

"Nathan, I--I think that's 'co-rectin','" suggested the woman, a little
breathlessly.

The man turned and gazed at his wife without speaking. Then his jaw
fell.

"Well, by sugar, Mary! You ain't a-goin' ter begin it, be ye?" he
demanded.

"Why, no, 'course not!" she laughed confusedly. "An'--an' Alma
wouldn't."

"'Course Alma wouldn't," echoed her husband. "Come, it's time ter shut
up the house."

The date of Alma's expected arrival was yet a week ahead.