took a decided stand in anything except Mr. Pennycook, and always
modified her modifying adjective with the word "like"; an annoying
practice which had always rendered her an object of terror to Mrs.
Corblay. To the latter it always seemed as if Mrs. Pennycook was
desirous of saying something nasty, but lacked the courage to come out
flatfooted with it.

Her unknown informant interrupted, or attempted to interrupt, but Mrs.
Pennycook was now started on her favorite topic, in such haste that she
failed to give the customary telephonic challenge:

"Who's speaking, please?"

She continued. "Yes, she was kinder quiet like any kept to herself
like--"

"Well," said the unknown, "she's dead now, and that little daughter o'
hers is all alone down there with her Indian woman. If you knew Mrs.
Corblay was dead, why in blue blazes didn't you or some other woman in
this heartless village go down there and comfort that child? I've asked
three of your neighbors already, but they're washin' or dustin' or
cookin' or somethin'."

"I was so terrible shocked like when I heard it--"

"Well, if the shock's over, for decency's sake, Mrs. Pennycook, go down
to the Hat Ranch and keep that little girl comp'ny till this
afternoon."

"Who's talkin'?" demanded Mrs. Pennycook belligerently.