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“You can’t seem to account for them foresights,” continued Mr. Teaby, putting down his tall, thin valise and letting the empty top of it fold over. Then he stood his umbrella against the end of my baggage truck, without a glance at me. I was glad that they were not finding me in their way. “Well, if this ain’t very sing’lar, I never saw nothin’ that was,” repeated the little man. “Nobody can set forth to explain why the thought of you should have been so borne in upon me day before yisterday, your livin’ countenance an’ all, an’ here we be today settin’ side o’ one another. I’ve come to rely on them foresights; they’ve been of consider’ble use in my business, too.”

“Trade good as common this fall?” inquired Sister Pinkham languidly. “You don’t carry such a thing as a good palm-leaf fan amon’st your stuff, I expect? It does appear to me as if I hadn’t been more het up any day this year.”

“I should ha’ had the observation to offer it before,” said Mr. Teaby, with pride. “Yes, Sister Pinkham, I’ve got an excellent fan right here, an’ you shall have it.”

He reached for his bag; I heard a clink, as if there were bottles within. Presently his companion began to fan herself with that steady sway and lop of the palm-leaf which one sees only in country churches in midsummer weather. Mr. Teaby edged away a little, as if he feared such a steady trade-wind.

“We might ha’ picked out a shadier spot, on your account,” he suggested. “Can’t you unpin your shawl?”

“Not while I’m so het,” answered Sister Pinkham coldly. “Is there anything new recommended for rheumatic complaints?”

“They’re gittin’ up new compounds right straight along, and sends sights o’ printed bills urgin’ of me to buy ’em. I don’t beseech none o’ my customers to take them strange nostrums that I ain’t able to recommend.”

“Some is new cotches made o’ the good old stand-bys, I expect,” said Sister Pink-ham, and there was a comfortable silence of some minutes.

“I’m kind of surprised to meet with you to-day, when all’s said an’ done; it kind of started me when I see ‘t was you, after dwellin’ on you so day before yisterday,” insisted Mr. Teaby; and this time Sister Pinkham took heed of the interesting coincidence.

“Thinkin’ o’ me, was you?” and she stopped the fan a moment, and turned to look at him with interest.

“I was so. Well, I never see nobody that kep’ her looks as you do, and be’n a sufferer too, as one may express it.”

Sister Pinkham sighed heavily, and began to ply the fan again. “You was sayin’ just now that you found them foresight notions work into your business.”

“Yes’m; I saved a valu’ble life this last spring. I was puttin’ up my vials to start out over Briggsville way, an’ ‘t was impressed upon me that I’d better carry a portion o’ opodildack. I was loaded up heavy, had all I could lug of spring goods; salts an’ seny, and them big-bottle spring bitters o’ mine that folks counts on regular. I couldn’t git the opodildack out o’ my mind noway, and I didn’t want it for nothin’ nor nobody, but I had to remove a needed vial o’ some kind of essence to give it place. When I was goin’ down the lane t’wards Abel Dean’s house, his women folks come flyin’ out. ‘Child’s a-dyin’ in here,’ says they; ‘tumbled down the sullar stairs.’ They was like crazy creatur’s; I give ’em the vial right there in the lane, an’ they run in an’ I followed ’em. Last time I was there the child was a-playin’ out; looked rugged and hearty. They’ve never forgot it an’ never will,” said Mr. Teaby impressively, with a pensive look toward the horizon. “Want me to stop over night with ’em any time, or come an’ take the hoss, or anything. Mis’ Dean, she buys four times the essences an’ stuff she wants; kind o’ gratified, you see, an’ didn’t want to lose the child, I expect, though she’s got a number o’ others. If it hadn’t be’n for its bein’ so impressed on my mind, I should have omitted that opodildack. I deem it a winter remedy, chiefly.”