Lathrop had been unable to attend the usual Friday afternoon
Sewing Society on account of her pickling. She had completely
forgotten what day of the week it was until she had picked all of a
dozen cucumbers and it was then too late to stay the tide of events.
The pickling had to go forward, and one of the best listeners in the
Sewing Society was forced to remain away in consequence.
"I guess you'll have to go a--" she called across the open space
between their kitchen doors when she saw Susan putting on her black
mitts in the window about two o'clock,--the hour at which they usually
sallied forth in company.
"Alone," Susan called back--"well, I should say 't I am goin' alone.
'F you c'u'd see yourself this minute, Mrs. Lathrop; you'd easy
understand 't even 'f you wanted to go no one in their senses 'd be
able to go with you f'r fear o' bein' took for a lunatic."
Mrs. Lathrop glanced dubiously down over herself.
"I spilt--" she began apologetically.
"I c'n see it from here," said Susan, "'n' 's long 's we're on the
subjeck I want to remark right now 't, with the wind settin' the way
it 's blowin' to-day, I don't want you to burn nothin' while I'm gone.
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