kind of a rig an' make you town-talk."

There was a murmur from gentle Lucy Staples, who had been constant for
fifty years to the lover who died in her youth; but no one took any
notice of her, and Sally Flint went on:

"It come spring, an' somehow or nuther 'Mandy found out the last o'
March was Josh's birthday, an' nothin' would do but she must make him a
present. So she walked over to Sudleigh, an' bought him a great long
pocket-book that you could put your bills into without foldin' 'em, an'
brought it home, tickled to death because she'd been so smart. Some o'
this come out at the time, an' some wa'n't known till arterwards; the
hired man told some, an' a good deal the neighbors see themselves. An'
I'll be whipped if 'Mandy herself didn't tell the heft on't arter 'twas
all over. She wa'n't more'n half baked in a good many things. It got
round somehow that the pocket-book was comin', an' when, I see 'Mandy
walkin' home that arternoon, I ketched up my shawl an' run in behind
her, to borrer some yeast. Nobody thought anything o' birthdays in our
neighborhood, an' mebbe that made it seem a good deal more 'n 'twas;
but when I got in there, I vow I was sorry I come. There set Josh by
the kitchen table, sort o' red an' pleased, with his old pocket-book
open afore him, an' he was puttin' all his bills an' papers into the
new one, an' sayin', every other word,--

"'Why, 'Mandy, I never see your beat! Ain't this a nice one, Lyddy?'

"An' 'Mandy was b'ilin' over with pride, an' she stood there takin' off
her cloud; she'd been in such a hurry to give it to him she hadn't even
got her things off fust. Lyddy stood by the cupboard, lookin' straight
at the glass spoon-holder. I thought arterwards I didn't b'lieve she