During that time no one had any fault to find with her, excepting old
Mrs. Crabbe, who thought she should have called her child Mary instead
of Juliet. "It's not a proper name," she said to Mrs. Tomkins. "It
isn't in the Bible, Mrs. Tomkins. You'd do as well to call the child
Salomy. Salomy's in the Bible."
When Eben Wicket died, early in 1917, he left his house and about an
acre of land to his daughter-in-law. She was poor; still, she had
enough to get along on. She was young, but every one thought of her as
a woman whose life was over. So when Noel Ploughman took to keeping
company with her, the gossips were all aflitter. It was June; the
regulars were on their way to France; and what with the war, and Mrs.
Wicket, the village had plenty to talk about. Old Mrs. Ploughman said
nothing, but regarded her friends with a gloomy and thoughtful air. On
the other hand, Miss Beal, the dressmaker, saw no reason to keep her
opinions to herself. "It's a scandal," she said to her friend Mrs.
Grumble; "what with Eben Wicket scarcely cold in his grave, and John a
thief, with his neck broke and heaven only knows what else besides.
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