Lathrop suddenly abandoned her
original plan, got down from the sink, ensconced herself in her
kitchen rocker, and plunged into bliss forthwith.
An hour passed pleasantly and placidly by. Bees buzzed outside the
window, the kettle sizzled sweetly on the stove, the newspaper rustled
less and less, Mrs. Lathrop's head sank sideways, and the calm of
perfect peace reigned in her immediate vicinity.
This state of things endured not long.
Its gentle Paradise was suddenly broken in upon and rent apart by a
succession of the most piercing shrieks that ever originated in the
throat of a human being. Mrs. Lathrop came to herself with a violent
start, sprang to her feet, ran to the door, and then stood still,
completely dazed and at first unable to discern from which direction
the ear-splitting screams proceeded. Then, in a second, her senses
returned to her, and she ran as fast as she could to the fence. As she
approached the boundary, she saw Susan standing in one of her upstairs
windows and yelling at the top of her voice. Mrs. Lathrop paused for
no conventionalities of civilization. She hoisted herself over the
fence in a fashion worthy a man or a monkey, ran across the Clegg
yard, entered the kitchen door, stumbled breathlessly up the dark back
stairs, and gasped, grabbing Susan hard by the elbow,--
"What _is_ it, for pity's--"
Susan was all colors and shaking as if with the ague.
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