A Spinner in the Sun | Page 7

the front parlour of Widow
Simon's house. She's went and rented it to him, and she says he pays
his rent regular.
"He wears leather leggings and a hat with a red feather stuck in it, and
he's gone into competition with Mrs. Allen, who's kept the dry-goods

here for the last twenty years.
"Of course," she went on, a little wistfully, "I've always patronised Mrs.
Allen, and I always shall. They do say Barnaby's goods is a great deal
cheaper, but I'd feel it my duty to buy of a woman, anyhow, even
though she has been married. She's been a widow for so long, it's most
the same as if she'd never been married at ail.
"Barnaby lives with a dog and does for himself, but he's hardly ever in
his store. People go there to buy things and find the door propped open
with a brick, and a sign says to come in and take what you want. The
price of everything is marked good and plain, and another sign says to
put the money in the drawer and make your own change. The
blacksmith was at him for doing business so shiftless, and Barnaby
laughed and said that if anybody wanted anything he had bad enough to
steal it, whoever it was, he was good and welcome to it. That just
shows how crazy he is. Most of the time he's roaming around the
country, with his yellow dog at his heels, making outlandish noises on
some kind of a flute. He can't play a tune, but he keeps trying. Folks
around here call him Piper Tom.
"Of course I wouldn't want Mrs. Allen to know, but I've thought that
sometime when he was away and there was nobody there to see, I'd just
step in for a few minutes and take a look at his goods. Elmiry Jones
says his calico is beautiful, and that for her part, she's going to trade
there instead of at Allen's. I suppose it is a temptation. I might do it
myself, if 't want for my principles."
The speaker paused for breath, but Miss Evelina still sat silently in her
chair. "What was it?" thought Miss Hitty. "I was here, and I knew at the
time, but what happened? How did I come to forget? I must be getting
old!"
She searched her memory without result. Her house was situated at the
crossroads, and, being on higher ground, commanded a good view of
the village below. Gradually, her dooryard had become a sort of
clearing house for neighbourhood gossip. Travellers going and coming
stopped at Miss Hitty's to drink from the moss-grown well, give their
bit of news, and receive, in return, the scandal of the countryside. Had
it not been for the faithful and industrious Miss Mehitable, the town
might have needed a daily paper.
"Strange I can't think," she said to herself. "I don't doubt it'll come to

me, though. Something happened to Evelina, and she went away, and
her mother went with her to take care of her, and then her mother died,
all at once, of heart failure. It happened the same week old Mis' Hicks
had a doctor from the city for an operation, and the Millerses barn was
struck by lightning and burnt up, and so I s'pose it's no wonder I've
sorter lost track of it."
Miss Evelina's veiled face was wholly averted now, and Miss Hitty
studied her shrewdly. She noted that the black gown was well-worn,
and had, indeed, been patched in several places. The shoes which
tapped impatiently on the floor were undeniably shabby, though they
had been carefully blacked. Against the unrelieved sombreness of her
gown. Miss Evelina's hands were singularly frail and transparent. Every
line of her body was eloquent of weakness and well-nigh insupportable
grief.
"Well," said Miss Hitty, again, though she felt that the words were flat;
"I'm glad you've come back. It seems like old times for us to be settin'
here, talkin', and--" here she laughed shrilly--"we've both been spared
marriage."
A small, slender hand clutched convulsively at the arm of the haircloth
chair, but Miss Evelina did not speak.
"I see," went on Miss Hitty, not unkindly, "that you're still in mourning
for your mother. You mustn't take it so hard. Sometimes folks get to
feeling so sorry about something that they can't never get over it, and
they keep on going round and round all the time like a squirrel in a
wheel, and keep on getting weaker till it gets to be a kind of disease
there ain't no cure for. Leastwise, that's what Doctor Dexter says."
"Doctor Dexter!" With a cry, Miss Evelina sprang to her feet, her hands
tightly pressed to her heart.
"The same," nodded Miss Hitty, overjoyed