Daggett's face grew serious. Then her soft bosom heaved with
mirth.
"'Tain't everybody that's lucky enough to have a minister right in
the family," said she briskly. "Mebbe if I was to hear a sermon
preached every day in the week I'd get some piouser myself. I've been
comparing this with the fair we had last summer. It ain't so grand,
but it's newer. A fair's like a work of nature, Maria; sun and rain
and dew, and the scrapings from the henyard, all mixed with garden
ground to fetch out cabbages, potatoes or roses. God gives the
increase."
Mrs. Dodge stared at her friend in amazement.
"That sounds real beautiful, Abby," she said. "You must have thought
it all out."
"That's just what I done," confirmed Mrs. Daggett happily. "I'm
always meditating about something, whilst I'm working 'round th'
house. And it's amazing what thoughts'll come to a body from
somewheres.... What you going to do with them wreaths, Maria?"
"Why, I was thinking of putting 'em right up here," said Mrs. Dodge,
pointing.
"A good place," said Mrs. Daggett. "Remember Fanny peeking through
them wreaths last summer? Pretty as a pink! An' now she's Mis'
Reveren' Elliot. I seen him looking at her that night.... My! My!
What lots of things have took place in our midst since then."
Mrs. Dodge, from the lofty elevation of a stepladder, looked across
the room.
"Here comes Ann Whittle with two baskets," she said, "and Mrs.
Solomon Black carrying a big cake, and a whole crowd of ladies just
behind 'em.
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