Tomkins died. And you know, Mrs. Grumble,
dream of the dead . . ."
"Go away," said Mrs. Grumble.
"Mind," quoth Miss Beal, "I don't mean to say there's anything as
shouldn't be. Still, nothing would surprise me."
"There's no use talking," cried Mrs. Grumble, "because I don't believe
a word of it." But she felt it her duty to add: "For all I never saw
Anna look so poorly."
"A touch of influenza," answered Miss Beal, "so Sara Barly says. Lord
save us: a big healthy girl like Anna."
"It's the healthy ones who get it," said Mrs. Grumble with a sigh.
"God moves in a mysterious way."
"His wonders to perform."
Mrs. Grumble arose and placed a kettle of water on the stove. "We'll
have some tea," she said, "and I'll cook you some fritters. Jeminy is
out. Then we'll go to the fair."
"Glory," said Miss Beal.
After lunch the two women put on their bonnets and went to take their
seats in the Milford stage. As the wagon set out, creaking and
crowded, everyone began to talk; and so, with cheeks reddened by the
wind, rolled, still talking, into Milford.
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