Rebecca sprang out from under the syringa-bush, eyes flashing with delight as only Rebecca's eyes could flash, her face one luminous circle of joyous anticipation. She clapped her grubby hands, and dancing up and down, cried: "Can I, Aunt Mirandacan I, Aunt Jane-can I, Aunt MirandaJane? I'm more than half through the bed."

"If you finish your weeding to-night before sundown I s'pose you can go, so long as Mr. Perkins has been good enough to ask you," responded Miss Sawyer reluctantly. "Take off that gingham apron and wash your hands clean at the pump. You ain't be'n out o' bed but two hours an' your hair looks as rough as if you'd slep' in it. Smooth it down with your hands an' p'raps Emma Jane can braid it as you go along the road. Get your second-best hair ribbon out o' your upper drawer and put on your shade-hat. No, you can't wear your coral chain-it ain't appropriate in the morning.-How long do you cal'late to be gone, Emma Jane?"

"I don't know. Father's just been sent for to see about a sick woman over to North Riverboro. She's got to go to the poorfarm."

This fragment of news speedily brought Miss Sawyer, and her sister Jane as well, to the door which commanded a view of Mr. Perkins and his wagon. Mr. Perkins, the father of Rebecca's bosom friend, was primarily a blacksmith, and secondarily a "selectman" and an "overseer of the poor," a man therefore possessed of wide and varied information.

"Who is it that's sick?" inquired Mi

randa.

"A woman over to North Riverboro." "What's the trouble?"

"Can't say." "Stranger?"

"Yes, and no; she's that wild daughter of old Nate Perry that used to live up towards Moderation. You remember she ran away to work in the factory at Milltown and married a do-nothin' fellow by the name o' John Winslow?"

"Yes; well, where is he? Why don't he take care of her?"

"They ain't worked well in double harness. They've been rovin' round the country livin' a month here and a month there wherever they could get work and houseroom. They quarrelled a couple o' weeks

ago and he left her. She and the little boy kind o' camped out in an old loggin' cabin back in the woods and she took in washin' for a spell; then she got terrible sick and ain't expected to live."

"Who's been nursing her?" inquired Miss Jane.

"Lizy Ann Dennett, that lives nearest neighbor to the cabin, but I guess she's tired out bein' good Samaritan. Anyways, she sent word this mornin' that nobody can't seem to find John Winslow; that there ain't no relations, and the town's got to be responsible; so I'm goin' over to see how the land lays. Climb in, Rebecca. You an' Emmy Jane crowd back on the cushion an' I'll set forrard. That's the trick! Now we're off!”

"Dear, dear!" sighed Jane Sawyer as the sisters walked back into the brick house. "I remember once seeing Sally Perry at meeting. She was a handsome girl and I'm sorry she's come to grief."

"If she'd kept on goin' to meetin' an' hadn't looked at the men folks she might 'a' be'n earnin' an honest livin' this minute," said Miranda. "Men folks are at the bottom of everything wrong in this world," she continued, unconsciously reversing the verdict of history.

"Then we ought to be a happy and contented community here in Riverboro," replied Jane, "as there's six women to one man."

"If 'twas sixteen to one we'd be all the safer," responded Miranda grimly, putting the doughnuts in a brown crock in the cellar-way and slamming the door.

II

THE Perkins horse and wagon rumbled along over the dusty country road and after a discreet silence maintained as long as human flesh could endure Rebecca remarked sedately:

"It's a sad errand for such a shiny morning, isn't it, Mr. Perkins?"

"Plenty o' trouble in the world, Rebecky, shiny mornin's an' all," that good man replied. "If you want a bed to lay on, a roof over your head, an' food to eat, you've got to work for 'em. If I hadn't 'a worked early an' late, learned my trade, an' denied myself when I was young I might 'a' be'n a pauper layin' sick in a loggin'

Rebecca sprang out from under the syringa-bush, eyes flashing with delight as only Rebecca's eyes could flash, her face one luminous circle of joyous anticipation. She clapped her grubby hands, and dancing up and down, cried: "Can I, Aunt Mirandacan I, Aunt Jane-can I, Aunt MirandaJane? I'm more than half through the bed."

"If you finish your weeding to-night before sundown I s'pose you can go, so long as Mr. Perkins has been good enough to ask you," responded Miss Sawyer reluctantly. "Take off that gingham apron and wash your hands clean at the pump. You ain't be'n out o' bed but two hours an' your hair looks as rough as if you'd slep' in it. Smooth it down with your hands an' p'raps Emma Jane can braid it as you go along the road. Get your second-best hair ribbon out o' your upper drawer and put on your shade-hat. No, you can't wear your coral chain-it ain't appropriate in the morning.-How long do you cal'late to be gone, Emma Jane?"

"I don't know. Father's just been sent for to see about a sick woman over to North Riverboro. She's got to go to the poorfarm."

This fragment of news speedily brought Miss Sawyer, and her sister Jane as well, to the door which commanded a view of Mr. Perkins and his wagon. Mr. Perkins, the father of Rebecca's bosom friend, was primarily a blacksmith, and secondarily a "selectman" and an "overseer of the poor," a man therefore possessed of wide and varied information.

"Who is it that's sick?" inquired Miranda.

"Yes, and no; she's that wild daughter of old Nate Perry that used to live up towards Moderation. You remember she ran away to work in the factory at Milltown and married a do-nothin' fellow by the name o' John Winslow ?"

'Yes; well, where is he? Why don't he take care of her?"

"They ain't worked well in double harness. They've been rovin' round the country livin' a month here and a month there wherever they could get work and houseroom. They quarrelled a couple o' weeks

ago and he left her. She and the little boy kind o' camped out in an old loggin' cabin back in the woods and she took in washin' for a spell; then she got terrible sick and ain't expected to live."

"Who's been nursing her?" inquired Miss Jane.

"Lizy Ann Dennett, that lives nearest neighbor to the cabin, but I guess she's tired out bein' good Samaritan. Anyways, she sent word this mornin' that nobody can't seem to find John Winslow; that there ain't no relations, and the town's got to be responsible; so I'm goin' over to see how the land lays. Climb in, Rebecca. You an' Emmy Jane crowd back on the cushion an' I'll set forrard. That's the trick! Now we're off!"

"Dear, dear!" sighed Jane Sawyer as the sisters walked back into the brick house. "I remember once seeing Sally Perry at meeting. She was a handsome girl and I'm sorry she's come to grief."

"If she'd kept on goin' to meetin' an' hadn't looked at the men folks she might 'a' be'n earnin' an honest livin' this minute," said Miranda. "Men folks are at the bottom of everything wrong in this world," she continued, unconsciously reversing the verdict of history.

"Then we ought to be a happy and contented community here in Riverboro," replied Jane, "as there's six women to one man."

"If 'twas sixteen to one we'd be all the safer," responded Miranda grimly, putting the doughnuts in a brown crock in the cellar-way and slamming the door.

II

THE Perkins horse and wagon rumbled along over the dusty country road and after a discreet silence maintained as long as human flesh could endure Rebecca remarked sedately:

"It's a sad errand for such a shiny morning, isn't it, Mr. Perkins?"

"Plenty o' trouble in the world, Rebecky, shiny mornin's an' all," that good man replied. "If you want a bed to lay on, a roof over your head, an' food to eat, you've got to work for 'em. If I hadn't 'a' worked early an' late, learned my trade, an' denied myself when I was young I might 'a' be'n a pauper layin' sick in a loggin'