"It's the healthy ones who get it," said Mrs. Grumble with a sigh.
"God moves in a mysterious way."

"His wonders to perform."

Mrs. Grumble arose and placed a kettle of water on the stove. "We'll
have some tea," she said, "and I'll cook you some fritters. Jeminy is
out. Then we'll go to the fair."

"Glory," said Miss Beal.

After lunch the two women put on their bonnets and went to take their
seats in the Milford stage. As the wagon set out, creaking and
crowded, everyone began to talk; and so, with cheeks reddened by the
wind, rolled, still talking, into Milford.

The fair grounds were in a meadow, bounded on one side by a stream,
and, beyond it, a wood already brown and blue with cold. Over the dead
grass the bright colors of the fair shone in the sun; one could hear
the music and the voices almost a mile away. On the other side of the
field rose a gentle slope covered with goldenrod and white and purple
blooms in which the bees and wasps were still busy. There, above the
crowd of men and women, the happy insects were bringing to a close
their own bazaar, begun amid the showers of early spring. Here was the
bee, with his milch-cow, the ant with her souvenir, and the mild
cricket, amused like Miss Beal by everything. Here, also, the wealthy
spider, slung upon her twig, waited in patience for the homeless fly.
And as, in comfort, she fed upon his juices, she exclaimed: "The right
to fasten my web to this twig is a serious matter. For without me the
fly would be wasted, and would not obtain a proper burial."