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One morning early last summer Fannie Penney was driving home from town, with a rather lopsided load of groceries on the back of the buckboard.  Fanny did not enjoy these weekly trips for groceries, but she did not rebel, as her sisters did; and though she had aspirations, they had not developed as quickly in her as in the others, for she was considered already an old maid (a state that in the country, strangely enough, sets in long before it does in the city, often beginning quite at noonday) at the time the Bluff colony began to attract attention.

The Penney family live in a plain but substantial house on the main road, a little way north of the village, where Mr. Penney combines farming, a blacksmith’s shop, and a small line of groceries, for the benefit of his family.  Up to the present time this family has jogged along at a fairly comfortable pace, only one daughter, the youngest, Mollie, having so far escaped from the traditional female employments of the region as to spend a season in New York, supplementing the grammar school education by a course in elocution, with Delsarte accompaniments.  When she returned she gave her old friends to understand that she was thoroughly misunderstood by her family; also, that she was now to be called Marie and preferably Miss, hinted that she was soon going on a professional tour, and condescendingly agreed to give a free recital at a Sunday-school entertainment.  At this she startled the community by reciting the sleep-walking scene from Lady Macbeth, clad in a lace-trimmed Empire nightgown, red slippers with high heels, whitened face, wild hair, and, of course, the candlestick, with such terrible effect that the mothers of the infant class had difficulty in getting their progeny to stay in bed in the dark for some weeks to come.  The pastor considered that, under the circumstances, she gave the words “out damned spot” undue emphasis, while the “Watch-out Committee” of the S. C. E. failed entirely to agree as to what gave the nightgown a decided pink tint, opinions greatly varying.  Some insisted that it was flesh, while the pastor’s wife, knowing the flavour of persecution, firmly insisted that it was merely a pink cambric slip, as was most right and proper.  But her charity was immediately discounted by Mrs. Barton, who said that likely it was pink lining, for Marie’s flesh was yellow, and not pink.

However, this event was soon forgotten in the greater interest that gathered about Fannie Penney’s return ride from town.

It seems that soon after Fannie left the town limits and was jogging along the turnpike, the big roan horse of all work began to stumble, then grew lame forward, and finally came to a standstill.

Fannie got out, examined his feet, soon found that not only had he cast a shoe, but in doing so had managed to step on a nail and drive it into his frog.  With the good judgment of a farrier’s daughter, she promptly unharnessed him.  Looking about and seeing cows grazing in a neighbouring pasture, she led him slowly to the side of the road, let down the bars and turned him loose, where he immediately showed his appreciation of the situation by lying down and nibbling at the grass within reach.