Honorable Jonas Whitermore had been delayed by a washout "down the
road," but was now speeding toward us by automobile. For my part, I fear
I wished the absentee a punctured tire so that I might hear more of the
heart-history of the faded little woman with the bonnet askew.

"Yes, I knew her," nodded my neighbor, "and she didn't look much then
like she does now. She was as pretty as a picture and there wa'n't a
chap within sight of her what wa'n't head over heels in love with her.
But there wa'n't never a chance for but two of us and we knew it: Joe
Whitermore and a chap named Fred Farrell. So, after a time, we just sort
of stood off and watched the race--as pretty a race as ever you see.
Farrell had the money and the good looks, while Whitermore was poor as a
church mouse, and he was homely, too. But Whitermore must have had
somethin'--maybe somethin' we didn't see, for she took him.

"Well, they married and settled down happy as two twitterin' birds, but
poor as Job's turkey. For a year or so she was as pretty and gay as ever
she was and into every good time goin'; then the babies came, one after
another, some of 'em livin' and some dyin' soon after they came.

"Of course, things was different then. What with the babies and the
housework, Betty couldn't get out much, and we didn't see much of her.
When we did see her, though, she'd smile and toss her head in the old
way and say how happy she was and didn't we think her babies was the
prettiest things ever, and all that. And we did, of course, and told her
so.

"But we couldn't help seein' that she was gettin' thin and white and
that no matter how she tossed her head, there wa'n't any curls there to
bob like they used to, 'cause her hair was pulled straight back and