Mrs. Gibson, the wife of the comparatively new elder of the Sabbath

Valley church was a semi-invalid. That is she wasn't able to do her own

work and kept "help." The help was a lady of ample proportions whose

husband had died and whose fortunes were depleted. She consented to

assist Mrs. Gibson provided she were considered one of the family, and

she presented a continual front of offense so that the favored family

must walk most circumspectly if they would not have her retire to her

room with hurt feelings and leave them to shift for themselves.

On the morning of the trial she settled herself at her side of the

breakfast table, after a number of excursions to the kitchen for things

she had forgotten, the cream, the coffee, and the brown bread, of which

Mr. Gibson was very fond. She was prepared to enjoy her own breakfast.

Mr. Gibson generally managed to bolt his while these excursions of

memory were being carried on and escape the morning news, but Mrs.

Gibson, well knowing which side her bread was buttered, and not knowing

where she could get another housekeeper, usually managed to sit it out.

"Well, this is a great day for Sabbath Valley," said Mrs. Frost

mournfully, spreading an ample slice of bread deep with butter, and

balancing it on the uplifted fingers of one hand while she stirred the

remainder of the cream into her coffee with one of the best silver

spoons. She was wide and bulgy and her chair always seemed inadequate

when she settled thus for nourishment.

"A great day," she repeated sadly, taking an audible sip of her coffee.

"A great day?" repeated little Mrs. Gibson with a puzzled air, quickly

recalling her abstracted thoughts.

"Yes. Nobody ever thought anybody in Sabbath Valley would ever be tried

for murder!"

"Oh!" said Mrs. Gibson sharply, drawing back her chair as if she were

in a hurry and rolling up her napkin quickly.

"Yes, poor Mark Carter! I remember his sweet little face and his long

yellow curls and his baby smile as if it were yesterday!" narrowing her

eyes and harrowing her voice, "I wonder if his poor mother knows yet."

"I should hope not!" said Mrs. Gibson rising precipitately and

wandering over to the window where hung a gilded canary cage. "Mrs.

Frost, did you remember to give the canary some seed and fresh water?"

"Yes, I b'lieve so," responded the fat lady, "But you can't keep her

from knowing it always. Whatt'll you do when he's hung? Don't

you think it would be easier for; her to get used to it little by

little?"




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