I was glad the day was warm, for I wanted to wear my white linen suit, with a blue cravat and Panama hat.

I felt independent even of Fred Hencoop, as I walked along the street under the shade of the elms; but, the minute I was inside Widow Jones' gate and walking up to the door, the thermometer went up to somewhere near 200 degrees.

There were something like a dozen heads at each of the parlor windows, and all women's heads at that.

Six or eight more were peeping out of the sitting-room, where they were laying the table for tea.

Babbletown always did seem to me to have more than its fair share of female population.