"I don't go throwin' money away on new hats like you city folks do,"
she said somewhat tartly. "A hat has to do me three seasons for best
an' a fourth for common. I've too much to do to go chasin' after the
fashions. I leave that to Bart Coffin's wife."
"Who is Bart Coffin?" inquired Bob, amused by her show of spirit.
"You ain't met Bart?"
"Not yet."
"Well, you will. He's the one who always used to stow all his catch of
fish in the bow of the boat 'cause he said it was easier to row
downhill. He ain't no heavyweight for brains as you can see, an' years
ago he married a wife feather-headed as himself. He did it out of
whole cloth, too, so he's got no one to blame if he don't like his
bargain. At the time of the weddin' he was terrible stuck up about his
bride, an' he gave her a black satin dress that outdid anything the
town had ever laid eyes on. It was loaded down with ruffles, an' jet,
an' lace, an' fitted her like as if she was poured into it. Folks said
it was made in Brockton, but whether it was or not there's no way of
knowin'.
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