last time was the day I rid up here for good, an' then I didn't feel
much like lookin' at outdoor. Well, I guess you _be_ a new director, or
you never'd ha' thought on't!"

"How do you feel about it, Miss Dyer?" asked the visitor. "Will you
go,--perhaps on, Wednesday?"

The other householder moved uneasily. Her hands twitched at their
knitting; a flush came over her cheeks, and she cast a childishly
appealing glance at her neighbor across the chalkline. Her eyes were
filling fast with tears. "Save me!" her look seemed to entreat "Let me
not lose this happy fortune!" Mrs. Blair interpreted the message, and
rose to the occasion with the vigor of the intellectually great.

"Mis' Mitchell," she said, clearly, "I may be queer in my notions, but
it makes me as nervous as a witch to have anybody hollerin' out o' my
winders. I don't care whether it's company nor whether it's my own
folks. If you want to speak to Miss Dyer, you come along here after
me,--don't you hit the partition now!--right out o' my door an' into
her'n. Here, I'll knock! Miss Dyer, be you to home?"

The little old lady came forward, fluttering and radiant in the excess
of her relief.

"Yes, I guess I be," she said, "an' all alone, too! I see you go by the
winder, an' I was in' hopes you'd come in!"

Then the situation dawned upon Mrs. Mitchell with an effect vastly
surprising to the two old pensioners. She turned from one to the other,
including them both in a look of warm loving-kindness. It was truly an