The Fighting Shepherdess

It was one of Mrs. Toomey's misfortunes to be not only self-analytical, but honest. She had no hallucinations whatever regarding her own weaknesses and shortcomings. As she called a spade a spade, so she knew herself to be by instinct and early training a toady. Of the same type, in appearance and characteristics, in this trait, lay the main difference in the two women: while Mrs. Pantin with her better intelligence was intensely selfish, Mrs. Toomey's dominant trait was a moral cowardice that made her a natural sycophant.

No quaking soldier ever exerted more will power to go into battle than did Mrs. Toomey to answer: "I hope so."

Mrs. Pantin's bright blue eyes sharpened. "Ah-h, they must have money!" she reflected. Aloud she said: "Really?"

"Certainly."

This was mutiny. Mrs. Pantin lifted a sparse eyebrow--the one which the application of a burnt match improved wonderfully.

"Do you think that's--wise?"

Mrs. Toomey had a notion that if she attempted to stand her legs would behave like two sticks of wet macaroni, yet she questioned defiantly: "Why not?"

Undoubtedly they had made a raise somewhere!

"Why--my dear--her reputation!"

"She doesn't know any more about that murder than we do," bluntly.

"I wasn't referring to the murder--her morals."

"I don't question them, either."

"You are very charitable, Delia. She lived alone with Mormon Joe, didn't she?"

A frost seemed suddenly to have touched the perfect friendship between these kindred spirits.

"I'm merely just," Mrs. Toomey retorted, though her heart was beating furiously. "All we know is hearsay."

With the restraint and sweetness of one who knows her power, Mrs. Pantin replied: "I'm sure it's lovely of you to defend her."

"Not at all--I like her personally," Mrs. Toomey answered stoutly.

It was time to lay on the lash; Mrs. Pantin saw that clearly.

"Nevertheless, as a friend I wouldn't advise you to take her up--to--er--hobnob with her." Mrs. Pantin did not like the word, but the occasion required vigorous language.

"I'm the best judge of that, Prissy." Her hands were icy.

"When you came to town a stranger I tried to guide you in social matters," Mrs. Pantin reminded her. "I told you whose call to return and whose not to--you found my judgment good, didn't you?"

"You've been more than kind," Mrs. Toomey murmured miserably, and added, "I'm so sorry for her."

"We all are that, Delia, but nevertheless I think you will do well to follow my suggestion in this matter."

Mrs. Toomey recognized the veiled threat instantly. It conveyed to her social ostracism--not being asked to serve on church committees--omitted when invitations for teas were being issued--cold-shouldered out of the Y.A.K. Society, which met monthly for purposes of mutual improvement--of being blackballed, perhaps, when she would become a Maccabee! She repressed a shudder; her work swam before her downcast eyes and she drew up the darn on the stocking she was repairing until it looked like a wen. The ordeal was worse than she had imagined it.