“‘N’ then, too, ’f she ’s rich I certainly can’t go to see her without I buy me a new bonnet.  ’F she ‘s rich, o’ course I want her to see right off ’s I ’m rich too, ‘n’ bein’ ’s we ’re old friends ‘n’ alone here together, I c’n truthfully state ’s she could n’t in reason mistrust no such thing from my bonnet.  It ’s a good bonnet, ‘n’ it’s been a good bonnet year in ‘n’ year out ‘n’ in rain ‘n’ shine turn an’ turn about, but I never was give to deceivin’ myself no more nor a outsider, ‘n’ so I will frankly say ’t it ’s long past its first shininess.  Miss White ’s freshened it up two times for me, ‘n’ I always have new ribbons to tie it every other Easter, but still, in the box or out o’ the box, its day is past for lookin’ brand-new, ‘n’ I don’t deny the truth ’s a more foolish woman might feel some inclined to do.  So, such bein’ the case, Cousin Marion ‘n’ a new bonnet comes to one ‘n’ the same thing, ‘n’ I can’t say ’s bonnet-buyin’ ‘s a way o’ spendin’ money ’s is over-agreeable to me.  However, ’f it is to be it is to be, ‘n’ I sha’n’t cry over nothin’.  I ’ll buy the bonnet, ‘n’ I guess ’f she talks to me about her money I c’n come out right quick ‘n’ sharp ‘n’ talk about mine.  ‘N’ I guess I c’n talk her down—­I ’ll try good ‘n’ hard, I know that.  ‘N’ ’f she sh’d put me beyond all patience, I ‘ll jus’ make no bones about it, but get right up ‘n’ smash her flat with her own letter o’ fifty years ago.  I don’t believe nobody c’d put on airs in the face o’ their own name signed to bein’ saved from want by the kind, graspin’ hand o’ my dead ‘n’ gone father.”

Susan ceased speaking, and rose suddenly to her feet.

“I must go,” she said; “it’s time I was seein’ about supper, ‘n’ it’s been a hard day first ‘n’ last.  It’s been ‘xcitin’, ‘n’ I cleaned the garret too, ‘n’ then my mind ’s all upset ’s to travelling ‘n’ I’ve got to consider a lot afore I c’n decide ‘s to anythin’.  ‘N’ I only feel plum sure o’ one thing, ‘n’ that is ’s I don’t want to buy no new bonnet.  Bonnets is a awful waste o’ money, ‘n’ I’ve got nothin’ inside o’ me ‘s cries out to extravagance.  But speakin’ o’ waste reminds me over again ’s I don’t want to throw no more time away on you, so, ’s I’m always frank ‘n’ open, I’ll jus’ say so ‘n’ go now.”

* * * * *

The letter which Susan Clegg had mailed to her cousin “Marion Prim, Knoxville,” did actually reach the hands of the person for whom it was intended, and the evening of the second day after brought an answer which the two friends studied together in a mutual intellectual darkness.

“Says she’s lived for fifty years on the motto, ’S’fficient unto the day ‘s the evil thereof,’ ‘n’ now my letter’s come,”—­it was thus that Susan voiced her understanding of the matter,—­“says I c’n come ’f I want to, ‘n’ mebbe it’ll be some consolation!  I don’t call that by no means cordial, but I ’m bound to consider ’t ’f Cousin Marion ’s any kin to father she could n’t naturally be very open-hearted, ‘n’ I must overlook her with a good grace ‘n’ a clear conscience.  I ’ll go because I ’ve made up my mind to go, but I won’t take no trunk nor yet buy no new bonnet.”