home, an' so be you. Don't you dast to speak a word to me unless you
come an' knock here on my headboard,--that's the front door,--an' I
won't to you. Well, if I ain't glad to be alone! I've hung my harp on a
willer long enough!"

It was some time before the true meaning of the new arrangement
penetrated Miss Dyer's slower intelligence; but presently she drew her
chair nearer the window and thought a little, chuckling as she did so.
She, too, was alone.

The sensation was new and very pleasant. Mrs. Blair went back and forth
through the closet-lane, putting her clothes away, with high good
humor. Once or twice she sang a little--Derby's Ram and Lord Lovel--in
a cracked voice. She was in love with solitude.

Just before tea, Mrs. Mitchell, in some trepidation, knocked at the
door, to see the fruits of contention present and to come. She had
expected to hear loud words; and the silence quite terrified her,
emphasizing, as it did, her own guilty sense of personal
responsibility. Miss Dyer gave one appealing look at Mrs. Blair, and
then, with some indecision, went to open the door, for the latch was in
her house.

"Well, here you are, comfortably settled!" began Mrs. Mitchell. She had
the unmistakable tone of professional kindliness; yet it rang clear and
true. "May I come in?"

"Set right down here," answered Miss Dyer, drawing forward a chair.
"I'm real pleased to see ye."