"
"Oh, I suppose so. I suppose I must take chances
with everything except furs and wools, which will
collect moths. Oh, goodness!" Sally held up an
old-fashioned fitch fur tippet. Little vague winged
things came from it like dust. "Moths!" said she,
tragically. "Moths now. It is full of them. Ed-
ward, you need not tell me that clergyman's wife
was conscientious. No conscientious woman would
have sent an old fur tippet all eaten with moths into
another woman's house. She could not."
Sally took flying leaps across the storeroom. She
flung open the window and tossed out the mangy
tippet. "This is simply awful!" she declared, as she
returned. "Edward, don't you think we are justi-
fied in having Thomas take all these things out in
the back yard and making a bonfire of the whole
lot?"
"No, my dear."
"But, Edward, nobody can tell what will come
next. If Content's aunt had died of a contagious
disease, nothing could induce me to touch another
thing."
"Well, dear, you know that she died from the
shock of a carriage accident, because she had a weak
heart."
"I know it, and of course there is nothing con-
tagious about that." Sally took up an ancient
bandbox and opened it. She displayed its contents:
a very frivolous bonnet dating back in style a half-
century, gay with roses and lace and green strings,
and another with a heavy crape veil dependent.
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