their midst.

But when it noticed, not later than the second day of Miss Yvette
Hinchbrooke's career in their midst, that young Homer Locker flapped
about her like some over-grown insect about a street lamp, it took no
pains to conceal its delight and devoutly hoped for the worst.

"Looks like Providence was steppin' in," said Elder Hooper to Deacon
Pettybone. "Dunno's I ever see a more fittin' _as_ well _as_ proper
follerin' up of sinful carelessness by sich consequences as might be
expected to ensue."

"Uh-huh!... That there name of her'n. Folks differs about the way to say
it. I been holdin' out ag'in' many for Wife-ette--that way. Looks like
French or suthin' furrin. Others say it's Weev-ette. If 'twan't for
seemin' to show interest in the baggage, dummed if I wouldn't up and ask
her."

"Names don't count," said Old Man Bogle, oracularly. "She hain't to
blame for pickin' her name. Her ma gave it to her out of a book, seems
as though. Nevertheless, 'tain't no fit name for a woman, and, so fur's
I kin see, she fits her name like Ovid Nixon's tailor pants fits his
laigs."

"She's light," said the elder.

"Sh'u'dn't be s'prised," said Old Man Bogle, rolling his eyes, "if she
was one of them actoresses. Venture to say she's filled with worldly
wisdom, that gal, and that sin and cuttin' up different ways hain't
nothin' strange nor unaccustomed to her."