MAKING OVER MARTHA

CHAPTER I

Martha Slawson sat at her sewing-machine,stitching away for dear life. About her,billowed yards upon yards of white cotton cloth, which,in its uncut length, shifted, as she worked, almostimperceptibly piling up a snowy drift in front of her,drawn from the snowy drift behind. This gradualebb and flow was all that marked any progress inher labor, and her husband, coming in after somehours of absence and finding her, apparently,precisely where he had left her, was moved to ask whatmanner of garment she was making.

"'Tain't a garment at all, Sam. It's a motta."

"A motto?" Sam fairly gasped.

Martha put on more speed, then took her feetfrom the treadle, her hands from the cloth-plate.

"I guess you forgot what's goin' to happen, ain'tyou?" she returned, sitting back in her chair,looking up at him amiably.

Sam squared his great shoulders. "Going tohappen? Oh, you mean—you mean—Mr. andMrs. Ronald coming home?"

"Sure I do!"

"Well, but I don't see——"

"I didn't suppose you would see. Men ain't muchon seein' where sentiment's concerned. They go itblind, an' that's a fack. I s'pose a man would leta gen'lman an' lady come back from their weddin'-tour(which they been gone 'most a year on it),and never think o' givin' 'em a welcome home, anymore than to find their house an' grounds kep' up,an' their bills kep' down, an' everything in tip-toporder. But, with a woman it's different. I'm goin'to give Miss Claire an' Lord Ronald a receptionthat is a reception. Somethin' they won't forget ina hurry. I'm goin' to have lantrens in the trees, an'a arch of laurel over the gate

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