V. I. F. SERI ES, 
 
 Each vol. izmo, $1.25. 
 
 
 
 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 BY MAKGAKKT SIDNEY. 
 
 AFTER THE FRESHET. 
 
 BY EnWAKD A. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER NORMAND1 
 
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 JM JJJ1U I'tUliK IN UliiVl A1N U 1 . 
 
 BY AUTHOR OF " SILENT TOM." 
 
 '}<!=^(7^^r>/i^ i^ra 
 
 Others in Preparation: 
 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, 
 
 PUBLISHERS . 
 
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 ^<3)^>^5S>gSe>^ ^<^&3>>Jk 
 
 

 
 THE 
 
 PETTIBONE NAME 
 
 A NEW ENGLAND STORY 
 
 BY 
 
 MARGARET SIDNEY 
 
 AUTHOR OF "FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW," "So 
 AS BY FIRE," " HALF YEAR AT BRONCKTON," ETC., ETC 
 
 BOSTON 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 
 
 32 FRANKLIN STREET
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1882. 
 D. LOTHROP & COMPANY.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL ; 7 
 
 II. WHAT BECOMES OF THE HOME .... 28 
 
 III. Miss JUDITH DECIDES MATTERS. ... 46 
 
 IV. IN WHICH EVERYBODY SPECULATES ... 65 
 V. AND NOW BOBBY JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO ACT 79 
 
 VI. BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT .... 98 
 
 VII. WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER . 119 
 
 VIII. AUNT JUDITH'S WORK WIDENS. . . . 144 
 
 IX. TOM GOES TO SCHOOL 163 
 
 X. THE DEACON'S AFFAIRS WAX WORSE . . 179 
 
 XL MRS. BASSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG . 190 
 
 XII. THE SEWING SOCIETY BECOMES INVOLVED . 212 
 
 XIII. PARSON WHITTAKER 224 
 
 XIV. THE GOOD WORK GOES ON 244 
 
 XV. BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT . . . 257 
 
 XVI. MR. BEEBE ALONE DISSATISFIED . . . 275 
 
 XVII. THE MINISTER FROM FRANKLIN SPEAKS . . 288 
 
 XVIII. " WE WILL HELP YOU DO IT " . . . . 302 

 
 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 
 
 DON'T worry so, Samantha ; it isn't best 
 to be too particular over a thing if it 
 wears one out." 
 
 Miss Judith Pettibone set the plate she had 
 just brought from the buttery on the table, 
 that, spread with snowy cloth and quaint dishes, 
 attested, without the other signs of preparation, 
 that supper was nearly ready in the big kitchen. 
 But the other signs were not lacking ; with 
 pleasant melody of the singing tea-kettle, and 
 the crackling of the old back-log, they filled in 
 an harmonious undertone to the two voices. 
 
 " That's true as Gospel sometimes" said a 
 little woman over in the west window, pausing 
 in the act of threading her needle, to give a 
 decisive nod ; " an' then again 'taint ; which is 
 
 7
 
 8 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 about what you can say of most things in this 
 world. But if I give up a mite o' principle to 
 one o' these seams, there's the whole mischief 
 to pay clear through the dress. Seems as if 
 'twas bewitched then ! " 
 
 " It looks innocent enough," said Miss Judith 
 composedly, and bestowing a glance on a pile 
 of brown merino lying on the broad window- 
 seat by the little dressmaker's side. 
 
 "That may be," said the little woman, just 
 as composedly, and holding up the waist to 
 take a critical sidewise look along its outline; 
 "but innocent or not, there's enough of the old 
 Adam in that piece o' goods to make me fall 
 from grace a dozen times. There ! there goes 
 my needle!" 
 
 Down she went on all-fours to peer sharply 
 under chair and table for the least shining of 
 the necessary implement to her trade, uttering 
 so many gusty exclamations as soon brought 
 Miss Judith to her rescue. 
 
 " Get another, Samantha," she advised, taking 
 down a tall candlestick from the high shelf 
 over the fireplace. " You won't find that in a 
 hurry. Needles are slippery things at the best." 
 
 " I sh'd think they was ! " declared the little
 
 THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 9 
 
 dressmaker, getting as flat as possible, to sweep 
 her sharp little eyes swiftly over the surface of 
 the old floor. " Yis ; an' then jest as soon as 
 I did git fixed with a fresh one, where'd I be, 
 pray tell ! " she cried contemptuously, bringing 
 herself up for a moment in a combative atti- 
 tude. " No better off ! Seems as if they couldn't 
 slip an' slide enough to plague me ! " she added, 
 going down again on the floor with renewed 
 vigor. " I'll find this if I die for it ! " she fin- 
 ished savagely. 
 
 Miss Judith laughed, and fitted in a new 
 candle, while the prowling went on industri- 
 ously. 
 
 " I never did see jest such a one as this," 
 cried the little woman after a tireless hunt of 
 some moments. " There's generally a little hope 
 to build on; but this beats oh, here 'tis !" 
 
 And she came up bright and shining, and 
 took her seat in the low splint-bottomed chair, 
 to catch up her work triumphantly. 
 
 " I'll drop every single stitch of my work jest 
 as often as my needle goes ! " she declared, 
 sending the enemy of her peace in and out 
 the gray lining like lightning. " Then see if 
 they get the best o' me ! "
 
 10 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "And bite off your nose to spite your face, 
 I should think," said Miss Judith, smiling over 
 at her, " to tire yourself out like that." 
 
 "Well, I'll get tired, then," said the little 
 dressmaker, settling a pin where the basting- 
 thread should stop. "That's about as long as 
 the slope ought to be, I guess," she said criti- 
 cally ; " an' I'll look out for my nose. Have 
 to, I guess, if I want any! 'Twouldn't stand 
 many bites," she added with a short laugh, so 
 cheerily contagious that Miss Judith couldn't 
 help joining, at the expense of the insignificant 
 member adorning the little dressmaker's face. 
 
 "Well, how'll you have the back o' the 
 basque cut ? " asked Miss Samantha briskly, 
 coming out of the laugh to business again. 
 " Why don't you have it with them two pleets 
 I spoke of. I'm goin' to cut Mis. Square Hig- 
 gins's so next week. I would ef I was you ; 
 it's all the style now." 
 
 " If Mrs. Squire Higgins is going to have 
 hers so, that decides me," said Miss Judith, 
 lighting the candle and putting it on the work- 
 table. " Now, I won't have mine plaited any 
 way ! Cut it plain, Samantha. I'd rather go plain 
 as a pipe-stem all my days, than to look like her! "
 
 THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 11 
 
 "You won't look like her," exclaimed the 
 little dressmaker quickly, and ready to bite her 
 tongue off for having spoken ; and giving a 
 vicious clip with her big shears to the thick 
 lining, "you can't, no way in this world! 
 The dresses won't be alike ! Hers will be on 
 her, an' yours will be on you. Do have the 
 pleets ! They're the only thing that'll set it off. 
 I sh'd hate to spoil it." 
 
 She looked up imploringly into the face 
 above her, while she took a pucker in the 
 basque-lining that dangled beneath her fingers. 
 " There, you can see how nice it's goin' to 
 look ! " she added, while she held it off at 
 arms-length for admiration. "An* you're so 
 tall an' kinder thin, I thought 'twould give you 
 a better figure," she finished persuasively. 
 
 "I'll have it plain," said Miss Judith, taking 
 one look. " Mercy ! here comes pa, an' supper 
 isn't on!" And she flew to take up the steam- 
 ing tea and hot corn bread, that somehow found 
 their way on the table as the door opened 
 and an old man entered, shaking the snow from 
 his thick boots and rubbing his hands together 
 for the cold. 
 
 " I'm afraid you've been too far," said his
 
 12 THE PETTIEONE NAME. 
 
 \ 
 
 daughter anxiously, making way for him to 
 come to the fire; and taking a turkey-wing 
 from the projection by the broad fireplace, she 
 proceeded to dust off his coat. "It's snowing 
 quite fast, isn't it ? " she said, brushing away 
 vigorously. " How could you .stay so long at 
 Deacon Badger's ? " she asked a little reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 "I haven't been to Deacon Badger's at all," 
 said the old man, sitting down, as if glad to 
 find a resting-place, and stretching his hands 
 out toward the comfortable blaze. "I " 
 
 " Haven t been to Deacon Badgers!" repeated 
 Miss Judith in astonishment, stopping her brush 
 from chasing the snow-flakes, to look into her 
 father's face. "Why, that's where you said 
 you were going when you went out from here." 
 
 " Well, I did mean to," he replied, sticking 
 out first one boot and then the other to share 
 the blaze with the hands ; " but I stopped at 
 the woodshed a mite the further one, you 
 know to see how things was in there, an' 
 the wood was all at sixes an' sevens. That 
 Sam wants lookin' after, Judith; an' I " 
 
 "Now, pa," cried his daughter, coming with 
 one step as far in between him and the fire
 
 THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 13 
 
 as she could get, "you haven't been piling 
 that wood, have you ? " 
 
 " Why, jest a little," mumbled the old man, 
 and not meeting her eye. " It looked so bad, 
 Judith, I couldn't help it." 
 
 "Well, I shall give up now," cried Miss 
 Judith, leaning against the jamb and speaking 
 in the accents of despair, " if you've been 
 stretching and straining over that wood ! With 
 your poor health, pa ! Why, I don't know 
 when you've done such a thing ! " 
 
 "It looked so," repeated the old man feebly. 
 " 'Twas all sixes an' sevens." 
 
 He added this as if producing an entirely 
 fresh remark. 
 
 " That's because I took Sam off to go over to 
 Boxville with those potatoes;" she cried quickly. 
 "To-morrow morning he was to tackle the 
 wood, with several other odd jobs. Well, there's 
 no use talking," she exclaimed briskly; "when 
 the mischief's done, it's done. Now, you 
 must take a sweat and get to bed, and see 
 what that'll do ! " 
 
 She hurried over to a small corner cupboard, 
 where sundry helps in the medical line were 
 always kept for times of need, and began rum-
 
 14 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 maging among the dried herbs and collection of 
 bottles stored therein. 
 
 " I don't want any sweat," said the old 
 man obstinately, and pushing back his chair 
 to look at the supper table. " I'll take a 
 piece of your nice johnny cake, Judith, an' a 
 cup o' tea; that's all I want." 
 
 " Ginger tea's the best," remarked the little 
 dressmaker, biting off a thread, and bobbing 
 her head wisely ; " that'll take the cold out, an' 
 unstiffen your bones, Mr. Pettibone. It alwus 
 does mine." 
 
 " I ain't got any cold in my bones," said 
 the old man querulously, and getting up from 
 his chair to hobble with difficulty to the head 
 of the table. "An' I won't take no ginger tea 
 nor nothin' of the sort. No, I won't, Judith ! " 
 he declared decidedly, seeing her advance, a 
 bottle in hand, with her eye on the big 
 spoon-glass. "An* you needn't think I will. 
 Come, Miss Scarritt, put up your work an' 
 set up to supper." 
 
 Miss Judith, seeing it useless to urge her 
 favorite remedy, or any remedy at all, wisely 
 held her peace, and, taking her place behind 
 the big tea-tray, proceeded to pour out for
 
 THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 15 
 
 him as scalding a cup of that beverage as 
 was possible. Miss Scarritt skipped nimbly 
 into her place, and the lengthy grace began. 
 
 They had scarcely composed themselves to 
 the refreshment of the meal and the village 
 chat that always accompanied it, when the 
 outer door was heard to open, and then stej :. 
 sounded out in 'the little back entry. 
 
 " It's John, probably," said Miss Judith ; 
 " that's nice ; come in, John, and have some 
 supper," she cried cordially. 
 
 " Tain't John," said a voice as a fur cap 
 was thrust in the kitchen door, enveloping a 
 white face. "It's me." 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Folinsbee," cried Miss Judith. 
 "Well, come right in and have some supper 
 with us." And she got up for another plate, 
 cup and saucer. 
 
 " Yis ; come right in an' have some o' 
 Judith's johnny cake an' a cup o' tea," said 
 old Mr. Pettibone, putting out a trembling hand 
 of welcome, and smiling in a pleased way. 
 
 " I couldn't eat a mouthful if I was to be 
 shot," said Mr. Folinsbee, twisting his hands 
 in great excitement, and staring out of two 
 eyes that looked as if they were on the point
 
 16 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 of bidding good-by to their sockets forever. 
 
 Miss Scarritt set down her tea-cup, and fas- 
 tened her sharp little eyes on his white face. 
 
 "Yis," said Mr. Pettibone sociably; "you 
 must take a bite o' Judith's johnny cake. 
 'Taint often, neighbor, you git such johnny cake 
 as hers, unless it is Mis. Folinsbee's," he added, 
 with a tremulous laugh at his own pleasantry. 
 "Judith, why don't you git him a cup o' tea, 
 daughter ? " 
 
 Miss Judith, on her way from the old dresser, 
 hospitably intent, nearly let fall her burden of 
 crockery at sight of the visitor's face, as he 
 now began to waive off all efforts toward his 
 entertainment. 
 
 " I can't ; don't ask me," he cried, shaking 
 his fur-enveloped head at one and another 
 helplessly. " I've jest stepped in to tell you 
 the news ! Hain't you heard it ? " 
 
 "No," said Miss Scarritt, eagerly leaning over 
 the table, and craning her neck to catch every 
 syllable. "We ain't heard the first word. What 
 upon earth is it ? " 
 
 Miss Judith put up one hand, to stay any 
 dreadful recital. Too late ! 
 
 "Yis, yis!" cried Mr. Pettibone. "What is't ?
 
 THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 17 
 
 Why don't you tell on ? " he added impatiently. 
 
 " Square Higgins is dead ! " said Mr. Folins- 
 bee, without the least preamble, and twisting 
 his hands worse than ever. 
 
 " Oh, my goodness me ! " exclaimed the little 
 dressmaker, nearly tumbling out of her chair. 
 
 Miss Judith put down the crockery on the 
 table and went swiftly around to her father. 
 
 "What is it, neighbor?" asked old Mr. Pet- 
 tibone solemnly, while he fastened his eyes on 
 the white face under the fur cap. " Tell it all ! 
 When did he die, an' what was the matter 
 with him?" He rested one thin white hand 
 on the table-cloth, while the other grasped the 
 arm of his chair for support. 
 
 "Took with a fit, I s'pose," said Mr. Fol- 
 insbee, who, now that he had begun, saw no 
 reason for withholding any information in his 
 power. " Leastways, he was found in his barn 
 about an hour ago stone dead." 
 
 "Puttin' out his horse, I s'pose," said the 
 little dressmaker, recovering with a gasp, and 
 sitting upright again. " He's too mean to keep 
 a man, as he'd ought to. Mis. Higgins has teased 
 him to a hundred times. I've heard her when 
 I've been a workin' "
 
 18 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " In the barn," assented Mr. Folinsbee, with 
 a bob of his round head, his fur cap still 
 having the honor to adorn it undisturbed, "an' 
 he " 
 
 " Make it as short as you can," whispered 
 Miss Judith, going back of their neighbor's 
 broad shoulders, under pretext of wanting to 
 look at the clock, "for mercy 's sake, on ac- 
 count of pa /" 
 
 "An" an' they brung him in Miss Judith, 
 how can I tell it ! " he exclaimed, breaking off 
 abruptly, to look reproachfully at her. Then he 
 sank into a chair. " I'm sure / don't want to 
 scare him no more'n you do. 'Tain't mes to 
 blame; it's the fit." 
 
 " I wonder how he has left his affairs," said 
 Miss Judith carelessly, and speaking as fast as she 
 could, to stop any further remarks on Mr. Fol- 
 insbee's part. " I hope Mrs. Higgins and the 
 children are looked out for." 
 
 " Well, that's the worst on't," said Mr. Fol- 
 insbee, going off animatedly into this new direc- 
 tion. " I don't believe they are. In fact, I 
 wouldn't be afraid to bet ef I warn't a per- 
 fessor, an' I had any money to stake that 
 every single thing goes to that eldest son."
 
 THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 19 
 
 " Why, I sh'd like to know why ! " cried the 
 little dressmaker, leaning as far over the table 
 as she could, and fixing her small gray eyes 
 on Mr. Folinsbee's countenance. "The idea 
 such a scape-goat as he is ! an' he hain't ever 
 done a thing to earn a cent neither ! " 
 
 " Scape-grace, you mean," corrected Miss Ju- 
 dith. Well, / should like to know, too, neighbor." 
 
 " Scape-grace or scape-goat, tain't any mat- 
 ter which," said Miss Scarritt decidedly, who 
 never was, and never could be, a respecter of 
 persons. "Tain't any time now to pick an' 
 choose words when you're a talkin' about Cyrus 
 Higgins. What in the world did the Square 
 leave things so for? Do tell!" she demanded 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Cause he hain't made a will in twenty year 
 or more," said Mr. Folinsbee, crossing his left 
 leg over its right companion, and with the atti- 
 tude, becoming conversational at once. That's 
 what I heard some time ago ; an' I don't b'lieve 
 he's done it sence. He was alwus a goin 
 to." 
 
 " Alwus a goin' to," repeated Miss Scarritt, 
 in the greatest scorn, while her little nose 
 wrinkled up what end it had indignantly;
 
 20 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " don't I hate an' de-sfltse those folks who are 
 alwus a goin' an' never go? Now, I hope he's 
 comfortable ! " 
 
 She gave a savage jerk over toward the but- 
 ter-plate, took a piece and spread it fiercely on 
 her bread, as if she could as easily flatten out 
 certain opinions and people, if she had them 
 under her thumb. 
 
 " He shouldn't a done it ! " exclaimed old 
 Mr. Pettibone with a great exhibit of interest, 
 and tremblingly waving his head over toward 
 his visitor. " No, neighbor, he shouldn't. He'd 
 ought to have looked out for them as made a home 
 for him, an' kept every thin' comfortable around 
 him. Cyrus hain't never done any thin' for 
 him. He shouldn't a gone an' left things so," 
 added the old man reprovingly, as if apoplectic 
 fits were luxuries not to be indulged in too 
 carelessly at short notice. 
 
 " Of course he shouldn't," declared Mr. Fol- 
 insbee decidedly. " Well, he's gone now where 
 he won't have to hurry up an' tend to things. 
 He'll have plenty of time to set down an' 
 think ; so there's no use in talkin'. An' I 
 better be steppin' along home, for I don't 
 b'lieve Mirandy's heard the news. I shouldn't
 
 THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 21 
 
 a stopped, only I thought maybe you hadn't 
 any of you been out ; an' I felt so upsot, that 
 I declare for't, if I didn't want to rest a bit 
 somewheres." 
 
 "No, he shouldn't," said Mr. Pettibone, 
 with as much confidence as if expressing his 
 opinion for the first time ; " 'twas a wicked 
 thing to cut off his wife an' all those chil- 
 dren a very wicked thing!" he added, with 
 righteous indignation. 
 
 " Well, gcod-evenin'," said Mr. Folinsbee, 
 rising to resume his journey "Mirandy-ward." 
 " It's a warnin' to all of us to do what 
 we've made up our minds is to be done, 
 right slap off ! " he added, nervously proceed- 
 ing to the door. 
 
 " We shan't none of us take it, though," 
 said Miss Scarritt coolly. " I don't s'pose 
 warnings ever scat folks into doin' of their 
 duty, like a stick does shook at a dog. The 
 world will wag on jest the same, Mr. Folinsbee, 
 ef all the Square Higginses should drop in 
 their barns ; 'twould ! Not a mite o' difference ! " 
 
 " I s'pose not ; s'pose not," assented Mr. 
 Folinsbee, shaking the fur cap solemnly at them 
 all once or twice. " Well, good-evenin', good
 
 22 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 evenin'." This time he was gone in earnest. 
 
 The door had scarcely closed on his retreat- 
 ing figure, when old Mr. Pettibone got out of 
 his chair and went over to it, carefully feeling, 
 to see that it was tightly shut. 
 
 "Judith," he said tremblingly, as he came 
 slowly back to his seat and met his daughter's 
 eyes fastened on him in utter astonishment, 
 " I've done right by you : yes, I have. You've 
 been a good daughter to me the best of 
 daughters," he added, choking a bit. Then he 
 tried to go on. 
 
 " O, father," cried Miss Judith, turning 
 very pale, and going up to his side to lay 
 her hand on his white hair soothingly; "don't 
 say another word, don't! " she begged. "This 
 news has upset us all," she went on, smooth- 
 ing his forehead gently, "but we shall feel 
 better when we've had a little chance to get 
 over it. I wouldn't think any more about it," 
 she added, trying to smile cheerily. 
 
 "But I must think I want to think!" cried 
 the old man, turning his head suddenly to look up 
 into her face. "An' I shall say what is on my 
 mind, daughter," he added with dignity. "No, 
 you can't prevent it ; so listen ! "
 
 THE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 23 
 
 She stood holding her hand protectingly on the 
 head so dear to her, now white with age, as if she 
 would give her life to shield it from every anxious 
 thought, and listened to the words that fell with 
 great distinctness from her father's lips. 
 
 "I've provided for you, child, abundantly. You 
 know that I made my will some time ago before 
 John was married, givin' him the homestead an' 
 the property, with the care of you. He's a good 
 boy a very good boy," said the old man with a 
 touch of pride, "an' I make no manner o' doubt that 
 he would have taken care of you as nice as I could. 
 But now he's gone an' got married, an' got a lot o' 
 children, why, 'twont do to resk it ; an' I've gone 
 an' changed 'round about that will, an' made you 
 the one, as 'twas right it should be, that is to get 
 the property you've done your best to take care of 
 an' save, all these years " 
 
 She made an effort to speak just here that tall, 
 strong-featured woman, who looked as if self- 
 control could fold those thin lips into utter silence, 
 that now were impelled to let the voice within be 
 heard. 
 
 "Don't talk," he said almost sharply; "I shall 
 say it. It's been on my mind for some time, an' 
 to-night I'm determined to speak. Don't go,
 
 24 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Miss Scarritt," he begged, hearing a movement on 
 her part, as if she were picking up her things for 
 departure. "You're an old friend, an' I guess 
 any thin's safe with you. An' besides, I don't 
 know as it's any harm who hears it, after all." 
 
 "I batter be out of the way, though," mumbled 
 the little dressmaker, picking up her thimble and 
 tying her needle-book fast. "I'm in an awful 
 hurry, Mr. Pettibone, to-night," she added, begin- 
 ning to bustle around for her rubbers. 
 
 "You can stay for a moment, I sh'd think," said 
 Mr. Pettibone feebly, "to gratify an old man 
 who's known you ever since you was a baby." 
 
 "I'll stay a thousand hours," cried the little 
 dressmaker, trotting up to his chair, and looking 
 first at him and then at the pale face above him, 
 "if you want me to. I guess I will! After all 
 you've both done for me, an' for those that's gone 
 before," she finished, putting up with a quick hand 
 her little brown work-apron to the small gray eyes, 
 "it's a poor story, if I can't obleege you!" 
 
 "Judith," said the old man, looking at her with 
 a world of affection in his gaze, "every thing's to 
 be yours, except what little I could spare to help 
 John out. The will is in that little black box on 
 my bureau, under the lookin'-glass. I had it
 
 TlIE OLD HOME ON THE HILL. 25 
 
 drawed up two year ago, over to Boxville. Poor 
 lawyer Stubbs, he's gone yes, he's gone!" 
 
 The old man seeming about to fall into a train 
 of recollection, Miss Judith motioned silently for 
 the little dressmaker to go. 
 
 "Well, I 'spose you won't want me to come to- 
 morrow," said little Miss Scarritt, as blithe as a 
 bee, " so I'm a goin' to run down now, on my way 
 home, to see Mis. Square Higgins. She'll set a lot 
 by mournin' clo'es, an' of course she'll want 'em 
 right straight off; an' I s'pose you ain't in any 
 hurry to get your dress done." She glanced over 
 at the pile of work folded up for future struggles. 
 " Now you can have the pleets if you want 'em," 
 she added, as a sudden thought struck her; "tain't 
 noways likely she'd want 'em now. I shan't 
 recommend 'em, anyway." 
 
 " You needn't come," said Miss Judith, ignoring 
 plaits to speak quickly. "I'm in no hurry to have 
 my dress done. I can wait a week as well as not." 
 
 "An' if I was you," said little Miss Scarritt, 
 running back to old Mr. Pettibone's chair after 
 putting on her bonnet, and taking out a pin from 
 her mouth to fasten the string, "I'd hop into bed, 
 bright and lively, as soon as I could. I'm kinder 
 shook up myself," she added, while her little keen
 
 26 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 gray eyes looked as solemnly apprehensive as it 
 was possible they could. "An" folks who ain't 
 very strong, why, it comes tougher on them. 
 Good-night, Mr. Pettibone; an' ef you would take 
 a swaller o' ginger tea, it wouldn't hurt you none. 
 It'll chirk you up, an' make you forget every thin' 
 onpleasant." 
 
 Miss Judith followed the little dressmaker out 
 into the cold, dark entry. Then she put both 
 hands on the little thin shoulders, and turned her 
 squarely around. 
 
 "Samantha Scarritt," she said, "I've known 
 you always. Now, not one word of what you've 
 heard this night ever passes your lips. Promise ! " 
 
 "It's dretful to promise a thing," said the 
 little dressmaker, wriggling all over, while she 
 tried to edge away from the firm hands. " I 
 may want to tell some time ; an' besides, p'raps 
 tain't right for me to say I won't. 
 
 "You never will tell," said Miss Judith, with 
 her clear eyes on her little friend, " if I don't 
 want you to. I never shall ask you but this 
 one thing, Samantha. Promise I" 
 
 She towered up above her so very tall and 
 commanding, that the little dressmaker craned 
 her neck to stare into her face.
 
 THE OLD IIOME ON THE HILL. 27 
 
 "Oh, mercy, yes!" she exclaimed. "I'd 
 promise you any thin' ; only don't look like 
 that ! I never'll tell, as true's I live ! ' 
 
 A dull, heavy noise, as if some large body 
 had fallen suddenly, struck upon their ears, 
 sending an undefinable chill through their hearts. 
 Miss Judith tore off her hands from their rest- 
 ing-place, and fled, with agonized dread, back 
 through the entry and into the old kitchen, 
 closely followed by the little dressmaker, wring- 
 ing her hands, and exclaiming in terror at 
 
 / 
 every step. 
 
 Old Mr. Pettibone lay upon the floor, just 
 as he had fallen, in the attitude of repose. 
 
 
 
 And it was repose, dreamless and deep. For, 
 when the two women raised him, they looked 
 upon the face of the dead.
 
 28 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHAT BECOMES OF THE HOME. 
 
 THE Reverend Adoniram Judson Whittaker 
 sat in his study lost in meditation. 
 
 Life, that had meant so much to him and 
 to his people in their simple home joys, in 
 their strong, healthful modes of living had 
 received a chilling shock throughout the whole 
 parish from the vision of death that had sud- 
 denly arisen to reveal the dread reality of his 
 power. 
 
 "Two from under my ministrations," he mur- 
 mured, "suddenly, almost together, called 
 where ? And how much am I to be accounted 
 responsible, in that those ministrations failed of 
 the highest results?" 
 
 The old question. 
 
 He sat with bowed head upon his hands, 
 wishing, almost, that he had been called to go 
 too ; had been summoned to lay down his weary
 
 WHAT BECOMES OF THE HOME. 29 
 
 little daily striving to do good unto his people 
 a striving that, in this moment of sad despond- 
 ency, when heart and soul had been hushed 
 into a crushing sense of responsibility, seemed 
 to him utterly weak and impotent to meet that 
 responsibility to the good of any one soul. 
 
 "How much were they benefited by my 
 teachings or life ? And now they are altogether 
 beyond my control, or even my knowledge of 
 their state." 
 
 "Adoniram," said his wife, coming rapidly 
 up the stairs to put her head into the study- 
 door, " don't you want a cup of tea or some- 
 thing to eat? You didn't take any breakfast 
 scarcely, you know. Dear me ! Your fire's 
 almost out." 
 
 She hurried across the room to investigate 
 the interior of thtP* stove, whose dying coals 
 gave only a faint^leam of hope as to increasing 
 the warmth of the atmosphere, seeing which, 
 she rattled the dampers vigorously and got 
 down upon her knees to puff as smartly as she 
 could the fast-waning sparks into life. 
 
 "So I did let the fire get down," said the 
 minister, starting remorsefully from his chair to 
 hurry to her side. " There, Sarah, don't ; that's
 
 30 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 not work for you ; " and he put his hand gently 
 on her shoulder. 
 
 "It's work for me if it keeps you from 
 freezing yourself to death," said his wife, re- 
 signing her place to him, but with extreme 
 reluctance, as she caught sight of his pale 
 face and troubled eyes. 
 
 " But when it comes to my carelessness," 
 said the minister, trying to smile, and only 
 succeeding in looking a trifle less wan and 
 haggard, " why, that's a much worse thing ; 
 your waiting on me, and my allowing it." 
 And down he got on the clerical knees and 
 took up the poker gingerly. 
 
 " O, Adoniram ! " cried Mrs. Whittaker in 
 dismay. " Those are your Sunday pantaloons ; 
 just look at them now! Why didn't you spread 
 a paper down first ? " 
 
 She ran back to the big study-table, to grasp 
 the first paper that presented itself, and waved 
 a report of the last conference toward him im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "To be sure; to be sure!" said the minis- 
 ter, getting up much quicker than he got 
 down to examine the ashy state of his best 
 nether garments.
 
 WHAT BECOMES OF THE HOME. 31 
 
 "And such streaks never do come off com- 
 pletely," cried his wife, slapping his knees with 
 the end of her gingham apron. "They always 
 look sort of dingy and hateful. You should be 
 careful, husband," she added reproachfully, and 
 with a final slap. 
 
 But the Reverend Adoniram didn't seem to 
 take her reproof into his absorbed mind in the 
 least ; but at once began poking the remnants 
 of the fire in an abstracted way so exasper- 
 ating to his wife who stood watching him, that 
 at last she could endure it no longer, but 
 quietly assumed control of the whole thing. 
 
 "You sit down and rest, do;" she said 
 kindly. " You're all tired out being up so most 
 all night over to the Pettibones. It's a pity ; 
 you won't get over it now in a long spell." 
 
 "I'm not so tired," said the minister, begin- 
 ning to pace up and down the room, " as I am 
 discouraged, Sarah. Yes, really and truly dis- 
 couraged, as I reflect on my failure to benefit 
 the souls of those two men who yesterday at this 
 time were among us ; now, called beyond our sight." 
 
 " Why, I'm sure Mr. Pettibone was a good 
 man," cried his wife, stopping her poking for 
 just a moment to look at him in surprise.
 
 32 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " Of course Squire Higgins was different. A 
 moral man enough, I suppose, but nothing 
 spiritual about him. But Mr. Pettibone why, 
 Adoniram, what, do you mean ? " 
 
 She rested her grimy hands on the base of 
 the stove, to stare at him while she repeated 
 her question. 
 
 "Good? Yes. And moral?" he repeated 
 after her, still continuing his walk with troubled 
 step. " I say yes to that also. But when 
 I think that they were both just such men, 
 only younger, when we came here to live, and 
 I assumed the charge of this parish, my heart 
 cries out, What has my influence been worth 
 that they have not grown, and others with 
 them ? No, no, Sarah ; the fault is in me. I 
 have not been faithful to my trust." 
 
 The pacing now became a swift, determined 
 striding up and down over the old study-carpet that 
 bore witness to much similar treatment in times 
 past under troubled feet. 
 
 That, bringing up before her mind's eye 
 each identical thin spot that clamored for future 
 darning, gave added weight to the feeling of 
 gloom that her husband's words produced in 
 Mrs. Whittaker's heart.
 
 WHAT BECOMES OF THE HOME. 33 
 
 " You're not going to blame yourself," she 
 cried nervously, " when you've worked and 
 written and talked and done your best. You 
 can't make men do as you want them to. I'm 
 sure it's a comfort to me to remember what 
 an excellent man Mr. Pettibone was. Do sit 
 down, husband, and think of that, and not go 
 to distressing yourself over what you can't 
 help." 
 
 " He was an excellent man," repeated the 
 minister musingly. "Yes; I am thankful for 
 that." 
 
 "And you ought to be considering Judith 
 and her feelings we both had," continued his 
 wife, delighted to see she had turned the cur- 
 rent of his thoughts a little, "before we think 
 of any thing else. Poor thing ! how she did look 
 this morning ! " 
 
 " She is a brave soul," said the minister 
 earnestly ; "a very brave soul. There's no dan- 
 ger but that she will bear this stroke just as 
 she bears every thing else, with a disciplined will." 
 
 "With common sense, too, as well," cried 
 his wife, shutting the stove-door energetically. 
 "There, your fire's all right now, Adoniram, if 
 you'll only watch it a little. Oh ! I don't mean
 
 34 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 to doubt her bearing it, only I'm sorry she's 
 got it to bear. She's so fond of her home, 
 Judith is." 
 
 "Why, she'll stay right along there, just the 
 same, won't she ? " exclaimed the minister, com- 
 pletely stopping his walk in surprise. " I sup- 
 pose, of course, her father has left the most of 
 the property to her, hasn't he?" 
 
 " Oh ! of course," replied his wife decidedly. 
 " I suppose so. I'm sure I don't know to whom 
 he would leave it if not to Judith. She's 
 helped make and save it, more than any one 
 else. John isn't of much account." 
 
 " Oh ! John is a good fellow," said the min- 
 ister, with a reproving glance at his wife. 
 " You shouldn't speak hastily, my dear. He 
 has some very nice traits indeed." 
 
 " Well, he isn't to be compared to Judith," 
 retorted his wife a little sharply. "You know, 
 Adoniram, that John Pettibone hasn't one single 
 bit of what makes her so nice and big-souled." 
 
 "Why, if you speak of comparison," ex- 
 claimed the minister, with wide-open eyes at 
 the very thought, " I should say not, indeed. 
 I never thought of such a thing as comparing 
 them. The thing isn't possible."
 
 WHAT BECOMES OF THE HOME. 35 
 
 " And besides, Judith is a woman," went on 
 Mrs. Whittaker, quite mollified by his energy. 
 " And although she's better calculated to take 
 care of herself than many a man, still I should 
 feel dreadfully, after the way she's worked and 
 saved and all the splendid care she's given to 
 her father, to see her turned off with only half 
 of the property, for John." 
 
 "The property wouldn't be much if divided," 
 said the minister, beginning to pace up and 
 down again, to his wife's dismay. "You know 
 Mr. Pettibone lost considerable some years 
 back. I have an idea that there isn't very much 
 left beside the homestead and the little farm." 
 
 "All the more reason, then," said Mrs. Whit- 
 taker, "that Judith should have it. And John 
 had no business to get married. I never could 
 forgive him that ; taking upon himself the bur- 
 den of a family, instead of staying at home 
 with his father and sister such a sister as 
 Judith was to him, too ! And then he left her 
 to prefer the society of Augusta Bayne. Why, 
 she didn't know any more than a child ! I've 
 never had any patience with him since that. 
 Supposing his house is full and running over 
 with children, and that he is poor! He made
 
 36 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 his own row, and he'll have to hoe it, I'm 
 thinking." 
 
 "We shall all have to do that," said the 
 minister, a little sadly. " We make our own 
 lives. God forgive us if the making isn't in 
 the right direction." 
 
 "And when .1 think about Judith's loving 
 her home and all that," said Mrs. Whittaker, 
 going back, "it seems as if I should cry for 
 her. For what will that big old house be with- 
 out Mr. Pettibone in it ? And she was so fond 
 of her father !" 
 
 "Judith isn't a woman to sit down and re- 
 proach the Lord for his dealings," observed 
 the minister quietly ; " and in doing good by 
 working his will in this parish, I doubt not 
 she will have added influence from this very 
 affliction." 
 
 " I know all that," assented his wife very 
 quickly, and with a troubled look coming all over 
 her face ; " but before affliction gets very old, 
 and sanctifying grace has had a fair chance to 
 work, there are some terribly hard hours, 
 Adoniram ; and I don't believe the Lord will 
 ever blame us if we give way sometimes. 
 We are all human, you know."
 
 WHAT BECOMES OF THE HOME. 37 
 
 The minister answered nothing to this, 
 because he had nothing to say. So he wisely 
 held his peace, without even trying to manu- 
 facture words. 
 
 " And don't you go to worrying yourself too 
 much," went on Mrs. Whittaker, going slowly 
 toward the door, and glancing anxiously back 
 at her husband, "or you'll unfit yourself for 
 your duty to-morrow. The two funerals in 
 one day is going to be a tax for which you 
 ought to save up all your strength." 
 
 Here the baby's voice underneath, in " the 
 keeping-room," set up a loud indignant shout, 
 that showed the efforts of the other children 
 at entertaining him hadn't been altogether a 
 success. The minister's wife, not pausing for 
 further reflections or means of administering 
 comforting advice, hastily departed, to plunge again 
 into the vortex of her neglected morning's work. 
 
 The whole community, shocked and stirred 
 by this sudden calling away from their midst 
 of two who had been identified all their lives 
 with town and village life, put by from their 
 absorbing care, every thing that could possibly 
 get along without oversight, on this day of the 
 double obsequies over the "oldest men in town."
 
 38 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " Seems ef 'twas the solemnest time I ever 
 see," observed Deacon Badger to Mr. Folins- 
 bee, who came next in age, as they met in 
 front of "the store." 
 
 "I d'no^I d'no," he replied, glancing ner- 
 vously around. " Yes, 'tis 'tis, to be sure," 
 he added a moment after, with the greatest 
 animation. " How'd they git along over that 
 trouble with the s'lectmen in Boxville ? " he 
 asked suddenly, with an appearance of the 
 most intense interest. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know," said Deacon Badger, 
 abstractedly ; " I don't care much about that 
 now ; we ought to " 
 
 " Well, I thought Simpson was in a tight 
 fix," observed Mr. Folinsbee, edging off. "He'd 
 orter have come out an' showed his hand 
 before. It's most too late to fix up now." 
 
 "There's a good many things will be too 
 late," said the Deacon thoughtfully, with a good 
 look over his ample spectacles into the withered 
 face before him. 
 
 " So there is so there is," quickly assented 
 the other, and rubbing his thin hands in a 
 fidgety way. 
 
 " Well, I must hurry along, or Mirandy '11
 
 WHAT BECOMES OF THE HOME. 39 
 
 think I'm never a-comin';" and he climbed 
 into his wagon, and rattled over the hills 
 smartly, hoping to drive out all the thoughts 
 that kept forcing themselves on his mind. 
 
 But he, as well as the other villagers, had to 
 harbor these unwelcome guests now. For a 
 long time the quiet of their homes had been 
 uninvaded, except occasionally by the death of 
 a little child or some very sick person whose 
 release had been long-watched-for. This time 
 there was no preparation no chance to re- 
 trieve mistakes, or to take farewells and with 
 hushed hearts that threw their shadows over 
 honest, sturdy faces, they gathered as one 
 family out of the simple cottages, or the big 
 old homesteads, to show at the houses of 
 mourning their friendly sympathy and personal 
 sorrow, in their own rugged fashion. 
 
 " I never heerd that bell toll so ; it goes 
 all over me," exclaimed one of the village 
 matrons, pulling her shawl tighter, to suppress 
 a shiver. " Samuel, stop a-teeterin' along that 
 way," she cried to a small boy in front ; 
 " 'tain't proper. Don't you know you are goin' 
 to a fun'ral ? " 
 
 At this, the small boy came down from his
 
 40 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 tiptoes, to which for a brief respite from his 
 enforced restraint over his powers of locomo^ 
 tion he had raised himself, and with extra 
 lugubriousness, proceeded for about a yard or 
 two. 
 
 " That's right," said his mother approvingly, 
 setting his little brother's cap straight ; " now, 
 take hold of hands an' walk nice an' stiddy. 
 Yes, that bell does sound just awful," she 
 added, glancing up at her husband who was 
 slouching along by her side, wrapped in his 
 own thoughts and his Sunday garments that 
 alone were always productive of awkward con- 
 straint, now nearly unendurable. " I don't 
 care for the Higginses so much," she kept 
 on "Samuel, what did I tell you!" as her 
 eye caught sight of revived animation in 
 the direction of the small boy's toes " but 
 I am sorry for Miss Judith Pettibone. They 
 had such a good time together, her father 
 and her ; an' they warn't stuck-up about it 
 neither, if they was Pettibones. I wonder 
 how much he left her." 
 
 Into the presence of death in the old home- 
 stead on the hill, came those who had left all 
 that was mortal of the Squire, in its last resting-
 
 WHA T BECOMES OF THE HOME. 41 
 
 place. Came with feelings very different from 
 the promptings that had directed the curious 
 glance and started the whispered bit of gossip 
 on its rounds. Here was one that the parting 
 showed how silently, yet how powerfully, had 
 grown in that little community where he had 
 lived and died, the love that now rose to over- 
 flowing in the moistened eye and quivering 
 lip. 
 
 " Old Ira Pettibone " was gathered to his 
 fathers, loving haftds performing the last sad 
 offices, followed by tender benedictions from 
 young and old, rich and poor. The old house 
 was emptied of its throng ; the neighbors, who 
 had stayed to help Miss Judith, one and all 
 departed, leaving the family drawn up in the 
 " best room " to hear the reading of the will. 
 
 Miss Scarritt having twisted her black bonnet 
 
 * *-* 
 
 strings all through the trying services into dubi- 
 ous creases, to work off her almost over-master- 
 ing nervousness, now turned upon Miss Judith 
 fiercely, who invited her, as a personal and 
 esteemed friend of the family, to stay for the 
 final ceremony. 
 
 "Don't ask me," she snapped. "I'm most 
 ready to jump off the handle now ! I've got to
 
 42 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 git home as quick's I can, or I don't know 
 what will become of me." 
 
 "But," said Miss Judith calmly, "they will 
 think it so strange if you are not there. And 
 John spoke about it, so* I don't know how to 
 explain your^absence." 
 
 How pale she looked in her black dress, that 
 made the shadows under her eyes darker than ever. 
 
 The sight of this only seemed to be fresh fuel 
 to the fiery element within the little dressmaker's 
 mind. 
 
 ' John ! " she exclaimed testily. " Yis, that's 
 it ; it'll be all John, John, now, of course. I'm 
 sick of the name, an' of the sound of the will. 
 I've heard enough of it ! No, I wont come ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Miss Judith warningly, with a 
 pinch on her arm. 
 
 "Well, you better let me go, then," cried little 
 Miss Scarrit recklessly, " or I shall tell ! I ain't 
 responsible for anythin' to-day, promises or no 
 promises. When I git over it a spell, why, I can 
 keep still maybe ; now, I'm goin' home. Say I'm 
 sick an' you won't be tellin' any lies ; for I declare 
 I'm most beat out." 
 
 Without another word, she stalked off, looking 
 neither to the right nor the left.
 
 WHAT BECOMES OF THE HOME. 43 
 
 Miss Judith went back quietly, up through 
 the two rows of second and third cousins 
 who could scarcely restrain their eagerness 
 for the final ceremony to begin, and took the 
 place in the chair next to her brother John, up 
 by the tall mantel-piece. Although her foot had 
 trod firmly the old-fashioned carpet, on her way 
 to her seat ; although her face, calm and strong 
 as ever, betrayed her not, there came for just 
 one instant, an overwhelming desire to get up 
 and proclaim before them all, that the will in 
 the hands of Parson Whittaker was not the one. 
 That one lay, where, no one but herself could 
 tell, waiting for destruction. 
 
 For only one instant did her heart waver. In 
 that her glance fell upon her mother's portrait 
 hanging on the low wall opposite. Was there a 
 voice from above, speaking through that life of 
 self-sacrifice and forgetfulness of personal com- 
 fort, that bade the daughter follow in the blessed 
 path ? 
 
 Miss Judith moved not a muscle, but her heart 
 was at peace as Parson Whittaker opened the 
 old yellow bit of paper in his hand. 
 
 Looking solemnly around on the group, the 
 words fell with clear, measured utterance:
 
 44 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " In the name of God, Amen. 
 
 " I, Ira Pettibone, of Barkhamsted, in the County of Jefferson, 
 being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do make and 
 ordain this my last Will and Testament, in manner and form 
 following : That is to say : 
 
 "Imprimis: I Will that all my debts and funeral charges be 
 paid and discharged by my Executor, hereinafter named. 
 
 "Item: I give and devise unto my son John, his heirs and 
 assigns, all my houses and lands wherein situated, and also all 
 the rest of my goods and chattels and personal estate whatsoever, 
 with the express command that he shall take the care of my 
 beloved daughter Judith, as long as she shall live, providing for 
 her in all that pertains to her comfort liberally, or forfeit the 
 aforesaid bequests. 
 
 " Lastly : I do make and constitute John Pettibone, my son, 
 Executor of this my last Will and Testament. 
 
 " In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal 
 
 this day of in the year of our Lord, 18 . 
 
 "!RA PETTIBONE." 
 
 There was a solemn pause. If a lightning-bolt 
 had crashed into the room, laying waste all the 
 life within, there could not have been more pro- 
 found silence. Miss Judith, with warm clasp, 
 caught hold of her brother's hand and pressed it 
 heartily, looking over at the minister and his wife 
 for support. 
 
 But Mrs. Whittaker, when she had recovered 
 her senses enough to speak, absolutely refused 
 any expression of congratulation whatever, sitting 
 up as stiff as possible on her chair, and preserving 
 the grimmest of countenances ; so that her hus- 
 band had to go up alone and take Mr. John
 
 WHA T BECOMES OF THE HOME. 45 
 
 Pettibone by the hand, welcoming him into his 
 property by nicely-chosen words, in which he 
 dilated on the comfort and privilege that made 
 the care of his sister a pleasant duty. 
 
 The second and third cousins now followed, 
 who, having no expectations of their own, cared 
 not a straw which one of the children fell heir. 
 Consequently they were just as loud and profuse 
 in their expressions of delight as they would have 
 been had the daughter been the recipient of her 
 father's property. 
 
 Miss Judith was thankful for the noisy chatter 
 that they produced as they crowded around John 
 and his wife, covering up the lack of hearty con- 
 gratulation from long-tried friends. But as noth- 
 ing but awkvyard constraint could last long in 
 such an atmosphere, the minister soon picked 
 up his hat, and, with a few mumbled words from 
 his helpmeet and himself, started on their home- 
 ward way. 
 
 " Don't you speak to me, Adoniram ! " said that 
 individual, when well clear of the door ; " not 
 one single word, or I know I shall say something 
 not exactly becoming a minister's wife. If I do, 
 it will be your fault!"
 
 46 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTERS. 
 
 IT is safe to say that none of the village people 
 suffered a lack of topics presenting absorbing 
 interest on the days that followed, even after the 
 completion of the nine universally recognized 
 to be enough for the satisfying : enjoyment of 
 news. 
 
 Every thing was eagerly grasped at that could 
 furnish a scrap or hint of a scrap of what had 
 now become the subject in everybody's mouth 
 "What are the Pettibones going to do?" 
 
 For the Higgins family sank at once into hope- 
 less commonplaceness, having nothing to offer in 
 the way of attractiveness and variety, either in 
 their affairs or the management of thejn, able in 
 the slightest to compete with the change and rev- 
 olution that made the old homestead on the 
 hill the point to which all eyes were now directed. 
 
 Miss Scarritt was in great demand about these
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTERS. 47 
 
 times, being hailed as a perfect treasure when- 
 ever she dropped in anywhere for a moment or 
 two, and stopped and hindered on the road 
 twice as long, whenever she didn't know which 
 way to turn for the hurry; for, having been 
 at work for "Miss Judith" on the eventful day, 
 she could tell every detail of old Mr. Pettibone's 
 sudden attack: "What he said," and "how he 
 looked," and "how Judith took it," and so on and 
 on, without ever reaching the end of the story. 
 
 The little dressmaker was in high glee. Not- 
 withstanding her sorrow at the loss of a per- 
 sonal friend, added to her indignation and nervous- 
 ness at the turn in Miss Judith's affairs, she 
 couldn't for her life keep her soul from swelling 
 with delight at possession of the rightful inspi- 
 ration to all her faculties. 
 
 For she was a born story teller. And never did 
 a narration get more good, and a nicer setting 
 out at the hands of an owner. Even a thread- 
 bare fact became a perfect mine of interest. 
 Before she got through with it, it was invested 
 with a certain mysterious richness that might 
 pay well for the digging. 
 
 In all social affairs, therefore, and the secret 
 under-current s of life that were not yet news,
 
 48 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 the little dressmaker was considered by all to 
 be the very highest authority. And in virtue 
 of this choice gift, aside from her undoubted 
 skill in her trade, many careful housewives 
 who would otherwise have contrived to accom- 
 plish the dressmaking duties of their homes, man- 
 aged in some way, by scrimping and pinching, 
 to eke out enough to hire Miss Scarritt's scissors 
 and thimble for a few days of solid enjoyment. 
 Here was now enough to keep her keen little 
 tongue busy for one spell. 
 
 "I never see," exclaimed Mrs. Bassett, the 
 shoemaker's wife, who had secured the little 
 dressmaker's services for one day, under plea 
 of "most freezin' to death in my thin alpacy" 
 "sech a mysterious dealin' of Providence as 
 to take off Mr. Pettibone Have some more 
 quince sass, Miss Scarritt ; do ! You needn't be 
 a mite afeard of it. I made up a lot this fall, 
 so's to have plenty." 
 
 As Miss Scarritt met that delicacy at nearly 
 every house on her rounds, it being a good year 
 for quinces, she declined with no great inward 
 disappointment. 
 
 "Do," urged her hostess. "Janey, git some
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTEES. 49 
 
 more. Fill up the dish, an' then I guess there 
 won't nobody be scat at takin' some. Well, as 
 I was a sayin', I dunno when I've been more 
 surprised than I was when I heard that Mr. 
 Pettibone was took. 'Twas so mysterious ! " 
 
 "'Twasn't mysterious at all," said the dress- 
 maker, with a little snort, and passing her cup 
 for another filling of tea. 
 
 "What do you mean?" exclaimed Mrs. Bassett, 
 while the shoemaker, and each one of the children, 
 laid down knives and forks to look at her. 
 
 "If folks start to help along things themselves," 
 said little Miss Scarritt calmly "not much sugar, 
 remember, Mis. Bassett why, they can most 
 generally do it. An' then Providence catches all 
 the blame." 
 
 "Warn't it heart disease?" asked Mr. Bassett, in 
 stolid surprise; "I heerd so; an' everybody says 
 'twas." 
 
 "An 1 so 'twas," cried the little dressmaker; 
 "but ef you set out to, you can give your heart 
 a hist towards the grave. There ain't nothin' 
 to hender, 's I know of." 
 
 "What'd he do?" asked Mrs. Bassett quickly, 
 sticking her long neck eagerly forward, while her 
 sharp black eyes glistened ; " I thought 'twas queer
 
 50 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 when he'd lived so long amongst us, to be took with 
 that complaint without warnin'. Do tell, now " 
 
 "Well, 'taint a very good thing when a man 
 ain't strong an' is somewhat along in years," 
 observed Miss Scarritt quietly, and fixing her 
 small gray eyes meditatively on Mrs. Bassett's 
 father, who, having the privilege of living with 
 his daughter, usually performed a few little 
 tasks "for pleasure," as she always explained 
 "to go out into a woodshed, an' stay a-stretchin' 
 an' strainin', to pile up wood land knows how 
 long! most two hours I guess an' " 
 
 " No, 'taint, 'taint," cried Mrs. Bassett quickly. 
 " Do take another biscuit, Miss Scarritt ; do ! 
 They ain't as good as usual. My oven wouldn't 
 bake, somehow. An' Ben, pass the cake. Well, 
 I sh'd a-thought Judith could a-fixed the old 
 man up when he came in," she added, with a 
 mild venom in her tones. " Daughters can do 
 so much if they have a mind to ; " and she 
 glanced over at the bent figure, enjoying the 
 unusually fragrant tea. 
 
 "Yis, ef they've a mind to," repeated Miss 
 Scarritt, still regarding the old man opposite. 
 Then her temper flamed up. "Did you s'pose, 
 Mis. Bassett," she snapped out, and turning around
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTERS. 61 
 
 on that good lady, between whom and herself 
 there was no love lost, "that Judith Pettibone 
 didn't do every thing under the sun an' moon 
 that she could think of for that pa of hers ? 
 that is, she tried her best, but he wouldn't take 
 it. She couldn't make him. La! don't I know? 
 Didn't I see it myself?" 
 
 She gave a final snap at ' all the venom that 
 might be in store in her hostess' big frame, then 
 plunged on: "An' when folks is to be sent for, 
 it does seem's ef they couldn't do enough to 
 run half way. Now, a leetle mite o' ginger tea 
 would a set him up, but mercy! as I said 
 before, you couldn't make him see it, an' every 
 word only made him worse ; so Judith had to 
 give it up. An' then in came Mr. Folinsbee 
 on top of that, with that teeterin' piece o' news 
 about Square Higgins I declare, tough as I 
 am, I thought I sh'd a dropped, it gave me 
 such a turn ! An' how d'ye s'pose poor old 
 Mr. Pettibone could stand it! 'Twould a been 
 a miracle if he had a lived. An' then folks 
 talk about the 'mysterious dealin's of Providence!' 
 I think the 'dealin's' is pretty open, myself." 
 
 "Well, I s'pose Judith will live on just the 
 same," said Mrs. Bassett, having no further
 
 52 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 interest in the present direction of the conversa- 
 tion, "an* John will move up on to the hill, 
 won't he ? " 
 
 " I ain't at liberty to tell every thing I know," 
 said the little dressmaker cautiously, who, not 
 having been informed by Miss Judith as to her 
 plans, chose to keep dark on the subject of 
 her ignorance. " 'Tain't best, you know, to .talk 
 some things over," she added with the air of 
 one proffering the most valuable advice. " You'll 
 all hear in plenty of time." 
 
 "Well, it's the only thing she will do, of 
 course," observed Mrs. Bassett, still hoping that 
 Miss Scarritt might relent and furnish more 
 information ; " for John'll be crazy to move out 
 of that little house that can't hardly hold him 
 an' his wife an' that pack o' children ; an' of 
 course Judith won't budge, 'cause he's got to 
 take care of her. The will put it pretty strong, 
 I hear ; and it's a mercy." 
 
 "John Pettibone'll be glad enough to do 
 his duty by Judith," cried little Miss Scarritt, 
 flaring up again; who, although she was burst- 
 ing with indignation at the whole Pettibone 
 affair, wasn't going to play into the hands of 
 gossiping spite, not if she could help it. "He
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTERS. 63 
 
 sets a sight by that sister of his, as, indeed, 
 he ought to ; for if ever there was a woman 
 that was a saint on earth, it's Judith Petti- 
 bone. An' 'taint alone because she's a professer 
 in good an' reg'lar standin' ; she's good on top 
 o' that." And Miss Scarritt pushed back her 
 chair, to brush the crumbs out of her lap. 
 
 " I guess I can git along now on the dress 
 myself," said Mrs. Bassett, looking over on the 
 pile of work ; " you needn't come to-morrer, 
 Miss Scarritt ; I must manage somehow, the times 
 is so hard," she said with a plaintive look at 
 her husband. 
 
 " I hadn't no intention of comin'," said Miss 
 Scarritt, slipping into her things, " not the least 
 in the world. One day, I said, Mis. Bassett, 
 you know, jest to oblige." 
 
 " Well, here is your money," said the shoe- 
 maker's wife, handing her a wad of dingy paper ; 
 "seventy-five cents do you have now, Miss 
 Scarritt ? " 
 
 " Seventy-five cents I have now," repeated 
 little Miss Scarritt, in her most business tone, 
 " but I'm a goin' to raise ; that is, where I 
 give up engagements an' disappint other folks 
 an' myself."
 
 54 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " You hain't raised yit, have you ? " cried 
 Mrs. Bassett in alarm ; " why, ef I'd known that, 
 I couldn't have afforded it noway!" 
 
 " I hain't yet," said the little dressmaker, by 
 a violent effort keeping from giggling, " but 
 I shall next time, Mis. Bassett." 
 
 " I hain't heard ten cents' worth," exclaimed 
 the discomfited Mrs. Bassett, returning to the 
 kitchen, after seeing the little figure trip cheerily 
 down the road ; " an' I could a done every 
 speck o' that dress myself. Janey Bassett, ef 
 you don't stop a lettin' that dirty cat in the 
 house, I'll know the reason why ! Shoo ! scat, 
 you ! " 
 
 "Oh! ma, it's cold," implored Janey, with 
 tears in her eyes ; " do let her come in. I'll 
 keep her in the corner." 
 
 " You'll keep yourself there, more like," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Bassett, shutting the door with 
 a bang, and coming back. " Come, pa, take 
 your candle an' go to bed. You're better off 
 there, an' I want the room by the table to 
 sew." 
 
 "I thought I'd set up a spell to read," said 
 the old man in a trembling voice, looking up 
 from the weekly newspaper.
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTEE8. 55 
 
 "Nonsense!" ejaculated his daughter; "it's 
 no time for you to read by candlelight. You're 
 a great deal better off a-bed. Here, take your 
 light ! " 
 
 The old man laid down the paper with a 
 sigh, took off his spectacles, wiped them care- 
 fully, and replaced them in their case. Then 
 he put out a trembling hand for the candle, 
 and went slowly out of the room. 
 
 The little dressmaker turned down the lane 
 from the shoemaker's house, into the turnpike, 
 and bent her steps determinedly toward the 
 homestead on the hill. 
 
 " John won't be there to-night," she said to her- 
 self ; "I guess that's the reason Judith sent for me 
 as soon as she heard he was going to Franklin. 
 So there'll be a nice spell to talk." 
 
 Which was all the remark she vouchsafed to 
 herself, trotting on so briskly, that before long she 
 reached the big poplars that guarded the old home- 
 stead. Wending her way in between them, she 
 hurried along up the box-bordered path that ran 
 around the side of the house. Miss Judith heard 
 her coming in through the back entry, and opened 
 the keeping-room door.
 
 56 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "Well, Samantha, you're nice and early," she 
 said cheerfully ; " I didn't expect you for a half 
 hour yet." 
 
 " 'Twas kinder hard to tear myself away from 
 Mis. Bassett," said the little dressmaker grimly ? 
 " but then, you know, I had to. Nice sort of 
 woman, ain't she, Judith ? " she added, quickly 
 slipping out of her shawl and hood, and com- 
 ing to the fire. 
 
 " Never mind her," said Miss Judith smilingly ; 
 "don't let us waste our time, what little we've 
 got. I want to talk with you, Samantha, to- 
 night." 
 
 " So I s'posed," said Miss Scarritt, deposit- 
 ing her diminutive figure in an enormous splint- 
 bottomed rocking-chair, " by your sendin'. Well, 
 I'm ready." 
 
 "But I'm not," declared Miss Judith, stoop- 
 ing down to lift the teapot from the glowing 
 coals, "till you've got something warm into you, 
 after your cold walk." 
 
 "'Twould be comfortin'," said the little dress- 
 maker, her keen eyes following her friend's 
 every movement, "after such pickin's I've had 
 to-day. La ! that stuff Mis. Bassett calls tea ! " 
 
 "Then you must have something to go with
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTERS. 57 
 
 it, in that case," said Miss Judith briskly ; and 
 going to the buttery, she brought out a big 
 blue plate, filled with enormous pieces of vari- 
 ous kinds of cake. "There," she said, putting 
 the plate on the table, and drawing up one 
 end nearer the fire, " now, then, we'll be com- 
 fortable together." 
 
 The little dressmaker took a sip from her 
 generous cup, that steamed up comfortingly, and 
 stretched out her feet for a toasting, Miss Judith 
 letting her alone to enjoy it all in silence, until 
 the last drop was drained, and the final crumb 
 to which she felt inclined, was disposed of. 
 Then she began : 
 
 " Samantha ? " 
 
 " Well ; " Miss Scarritt pushed back her chair 
 a bit, took her toes out of the heat a trifle, 
 and looked receptive at once. 
 
 "You're the best friend I've got that 'twould 
 do to talk over some things with," said Miss 
 Judith, beginning immediately, in a direct way ; 
 " and I'm going to tell you my plans for the 
 rest of my life. Besides, I want your help on 
 one point." 
 
 Little Miss Scarritt nodded, well knowing that 
 no words were needed to help along the plain,
 
 58 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 simple speech that was now fairly on its way. 
 
 "But in the first place," said Miss Judith, 
 interrupting herself to put her hand quickly into 
 the capacious pocket at her side, " I want you 
 to give your attention to a little matter here." 
 She drew out a neatly-folded paper, tied with 
 a bit of red string, which she slipped off, to 
 hold the paper smooth before her friend's face. 
 It was the will last executed. 
 
 Miss Scarritt's eyes stuck out to their widest 
 extent. 
 
 " You see that ? " said Miss Judith in clear, 
 distinct tones; "you can read it?" 
 
 "Yis, I can!" exclaimed the little dress- 
 maker, twisting uneasily all over her chair ; " do 
 take it away, for pity's sake ! I don't never 
 want to set eyes on it again." 
 
 "Well, you never shall!" said Miss Judith 
 quietly ; and with a quick movement, she flung 
 it into the bed of blazing coals. 
 
 " Mer-cy ! '" screamed the little dressmaker, 
 springing to her feet. " Pick it out ! pick it 
 out ! You can't never git it back, if it's burnt." 
 
 "I don't want to," said Miss Judith compos- 
 edly. "See! there's no use, Samantha!" She 
 pointed her long forefinger to a little gray fluffy
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTERS. 59 
 
 heap, where the paper had been. " It's gone, 
 and I'm very glad ! " 
 
 She drew a long breath, and sat down in 
 her chair. 
 
 " Well, / ain't ! " cried Miss Scarrit, tumbling 
 into her splint-bottomed refuge. " I feel as if 
 I'd been to a murder ; I do ! " 
 
 " Now there is no temptation for you to try 
 to help me," said Miss Judith, smiling over at 
 her; "for it wouldn't do any good, you see, 
 now there's nothing to show. And I wanted you 
 to see that it was destroyed, and then you 
 wouldn't make the attempt." 
 
 " You've gone an' burnt up every stitch off'n 
 your back, an' every mouthful o' victuals, an' 
 an' every thin' you could," cried the little dress- 
 maker, turning her eyes, which she had been 
 unable to reduce to their usual dimensions, 
 wildly on her friend, "an' you'll be an old 
 maid forever'n ever, an' " 
 
 "So I expect to be," said Miss Judith, laugh- 
 ing in spite of herself. 
 
 "Well, I mean a poor old maid," said Miss 
 Scarritt, gasping her way along. " There's an 
 awful sight o' difference, I can tell you, Ju- 
 dith Pettibone, between not havin' a cent that's
 
 60 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 your own, an' livin' in your father's house in 
 plenty an' independence ; an awful sight ! " 
 
 "I know that," said Miss Judith, "also." 
 
 The laugh dropped suddenly out of her face, 
 that lighted up with something so different, that 
 Miss Scarritt stopped involuntarily on the edge 
 of another harangue. 
 
 "And just because I am an old maid," said 
 Miss Judith quietly, " I have done this very 
 thing, Samantha. My father's first wish, an' 
 the wish of the blessed one that's gone before 
 him " she choked a little at the mention of 
 her mother, and turned her face aside for a 
 moment. Then recovered herself and went on 
 "was that the Pettibone name should never 
 come to aught that would keep it from ren- 
 dering good service to God and man." 
 
 Miss Judith's head went up unconsciously, 
 while an expression of pride took possession of 
 every feature. 
 
 " An' hain't it done good service to God an' 
 man ! " cried the little dressmaker warmly. " I 
 sh'd just like to know that!" 
 
 " And what it's done in the past, must be fol- 
 lowed by what must be in the future, or that 
 will all go for nothing," said Miss Judith firmly.
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTERS. 61 
 
 " Families can't go back any, Samantha. That 
 won't do ; and John's children are the only ones 
 to carry the good work forward." 
 
 "Johns children!" cried Miss Scarritt, in the 
 height of exasperation. " Well, let 'em git along 
 as they can. He had no business to go an' git 
 married till he had somethin' to bring up a fam- 
 ily on." 
 
 " Well, he has got married ! " said Miss Judith, 
 " and the family are here ; so I don't see the 
 sense of going back to the past, Samantha. All 
 that we can do, is to look out for the present 
 and the future." 
 
 "Well, then, you ought to let 'em shift for 
 themselves," said the little dressmaker in a 
 dudgeon. "But, goodness me! the thing's done 
 now, so there ain't no use in talkin'. I declare, 
 I'm as nervous as a witch thinkin' of it ! " 
 
 She whirled the big chair suddenly around, 
 till she had gotten her back squarely in front of 
 the fire ; then fastened her eyes determinedly on 
 the opposite wall. 
 
 " There, I can't see them coals, now," she 
 said ; " but I can hear yo.u all the same. Do 
 go on ! " 
 
 " If John Pettibone's children shift for them-
 
 62 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 selves," Miss Judith continued slowly, " as they 
 would be obliged to, if things go on as some 
 folks would like to have them, there would be 
 no Pettibones pretty soon, calculated to do the 
 very things their grandparents longed for. This 
 you can see, Samantha." 
 
 A silent wriggle in the old chair attested the 
 truth of her words. 
 Miss Judith went on. 
 
 " I think you can understand, Samantha, that 
 these children, some of them, at least, will well 
 repay any sacrifice made for their educations. 
 At all events, the sacrifice shall be, and the 
 trial made." 
 
 " Yis, an' git hitched around from pillar to 
 post, an' moved from one room to another in 
 this house where you've had your say so long, 
 an' be stepped on, an' at everybody's beck an' 
 nod," cried the little dressmaker in a perfect 
 torrent of indignation, leaning as far out of her 
 chair as possible to peer with one eye into 
 Miss Judith's face. " Oh, don't tell me ! I've 
 seen the thing work, time an' time again, Judith 
 Pettibone. TJia? s the way they'll pay you ! " 
 
 " I don't intend to remain here," said Miss 
 Judith, more quietly than she had yet spoken.
 
 MISS JUDITH DECIDES MATTERS. 63 
 
 Not being able to express her astonishment, 
 the little dressmaker hopped up, and ran around 
 her chair to get a better look at her friend's 
 face. 
 
 "That there may be no danger of such 
 things happening," said Miss Judith, fastening 
 her clear eyes on the anxious little face, " I 
 shall take myself out of the possibility, even. 
 And besides, I don't think it's a good thing 
 for sisters to live in any brother's family. 
 You know I have always said so, Samantha." 
 
 " Where will you live ? " gasped the little 
 dressmaker, not stopping to testify to former 
 conversations. 
 
 " I have a friend," said Miss Judith ; and 
 then she smiled, and put out her hand. 
 " Samantha, may I come to you ? " 
 
 For the first and only time in her life, 
 little Miss Scarritt's love for her friend quite 
 lost her her head. She gave a plunge to 
 her side, and, breaking through the stiffness 
 that surrounded many a New England woman 
 like a coat of mail, concealing the warm heart 
 beneath, she flung her arms around her neck 
 and imprinted a hearty kiss on the cheek near- 
 est her.
 
 64 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Miss Judith sat up straight. 
 
 " Samantha," she said, "was that fffftf" 
 
 " I believe so," said Miss Scarritt, coming 
 to and beginning to crawl back to her chair. 
 "That is, I think it was, but I ain't sure of 
 any thin' lately, Judith." 
 
 " I shall be independent," said Miss Judith, 
 with a warm little glow at her heart, where the 
 kiss still thrilled. " Don't think it's robbing 
 Peter to pay Paul, Samantha," she added, with 
 a small laugh ; "neither shall I steal your trade. 
 You'll keep on with the dresses, while / shall 
 tackle the coats and jackets for all the young- 
 sters for miles around." 
 
 "Judith Pettibone ! " 
 
 "Judith Pettibone it is," said the tall figure 
 sitting erect with shining eyes. " But you wait 
 for ten or a dozen years, when the boys are 
 out of college, and the girls from school, and 
 then see if the Pettibone name is hurt any. 
 Well, now it's all settled, and I can have a 
 talk with John to-morrow, and tell him my 
 decision."
 
 IN WHICH EVERYBODY SPECULATES. 65 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN WHICH EVERYBODY SPECULATES. 
 
 MISS PETTIBONE did "have a talk with 
 John " next day, the two shut up in the 
 keeping-room together; and his surprise at her 
 determined opposition to the plan he fully sup- 
 posed settled, that she should live with him and his 
 family, so far exceeded Miss Scarritt's indignant 
 astonishment, that it was extremely hard to pacify 
 his wounded feelings at all. 
 
 " It's pretty well, sister," he declared in an 
 injured manner, "that you can't live in the same 
 house and keep the peace with me and Gusty. 
 Pretty well, indeed ! " 
 
 ," O John, John ! " cried Miss Judith in great 
 distress; and then she added, "you know that 
 isn't in your heart to believe, brother." 
 
 "Well, folks will say so," he cried, "and that 
 I drove you out, or that you couldn't live under 
 the same roof with us ; and Gusty never fights "
 
 fc6 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "She's the dearest little woman," exclaimed 
 Miss Judith warmly, " as you are the clearest 
 brother. If I ever hear such a word said in my 
 presence, John Pettibone, it will never be 
 repeated ; that's all ! And I shall take care that 
 such a thing never gets said anywhere." 
 
 "Well, why won't you come, then?" cried 
 John imploringly. " You shall have your say 
 about every thin'; I know Gusty won't mind." 
 
 " And that would be about the worst arrange- 
 ment that could possibly be invented ! " exclaimed 
 Miss Judith decidedly. " Don't you see, I should 
 come between you and your children, who ought 
 never to see anybody at the head of their home 
 but their own parents ; and 'twould just about 
 spoil me. Why, I should be the most disagree- 
 able old maid in the country ! No, no ; that won't 
 work ! And besides, tisn't the leading and all 
 that that I want. That isn't the obstacle at all." 
 
 " What is it, then ? " said John with a puzzled 
 face. 
 
 " Why, I have explained it to you a dozen times 
 nearly, already," replied his sister, a trifle out of 
 patience. " John Pettibone, if I should stay right 
 on here, there isn't one of your children in a 
 twelvemonth would begin to think anywhere near
 
 IN WHICH EVEEYBODY SPECULATES. 67 
 
 as much of me as if I kept my own little home 
 distinct." 
 
 " Why not, pray ? " cried her brother, opening 
 his big blue eyes in amazement. 
 
 "Because they never do," said Miss Judith^ 
 marking off each syllable with her firm hand 
 on the table by which they were sitting, to 
 enforce her words. "That's my proof. It's been 
 tried again and again, John. Don't let us make 
 the mistake. The Lord never intended, I don't 
 believe, that an old maid should be let loose 
 on a family of children. It's the worst thing 
 all around; and the very mischief's to pay as 
 the result of it. You know I've always said 
 so. So it isn't any thing new the idea isn't 
 and you know it, John." 
 
 "Yes, I recollect," he said, forced to admit it. 
 "Well, where are you going?" he asked finally, 
 in very much the same tone the little dressmaker 
 had employed. 
 
 Miss Judith took one long breath, and prayed 
 for strength. She was beginning to find that 
 a quick settlement of all these affairs must be 
 effected, or the result would be disastrous. So 
 she struck boldly out. 
 
 "I am going to live with Samantha Scarritt
 
 68 THE PETTI BONE NAME. 
 
 and her mother. I am going to do tailoring, 
 to keep her company in her dressmaking : there 
 is no use in saying one word, for it is all 
 settled, and my word is given." 
 
 "Whew!" 
 
 "John," said Miss Judith, as he had started in 
 his surprise; and she got up and reached across 
 the table to put her hand kindly on his arm, 
 " it will be less than a year before you say to 
 me, ' It was a wise thing.' Mark my words, 
 John. And if, in the meantime, you ever feel 
 like regretting it for one instant, think of the 
 education your Tom will be having. O brother ! 
 if he can only carry out father's wish, and, with 
 such an education as you can now give him, 
 grow up to be a good man, what happiness it 
 will be to me ! Think of it, John ! And then 
 there is Miriam and little Ira ; why, we can't let 
 him carry pa's name unless we help him to be 
 worthy of it and all the rest. Brother, I shall 
 live over again in all your family. Now let me 
 have my own way." 
 
 He had never seen her so strangely moved. 
 Looking into her eyes, he saw something that 
 he never remembered to have seen there be- 
 fore, and he turned away, unable to bear the sight.
 
 IN WHICH EVERYBODY SPECULATES. 69 
 
 And so, on the week following, Judith Petti- 
 bone moved out of the home of her fathers, to 
 make place for the young brood who were to fol- 
 low in those fathers' steps up to better, grander 
 results, and went down to the humble little 
 home, of the widow Scarritt, and to the loving 
 welcome of her friend ; a proceeding that sup- 
 plied the whole village with plenty to talk about, 
 and gave an impetus to the Sewing Society and 
 the weekly prayer-meeting. 
 
 Opinions were pretty well divided as to the 
 wisdom of the course. Some said, " 'Twas the 
 foolishest thing ! " while the contrary minds in 
 equal number warmly applauded it, and wished 
 more people situated as Miss Pettibone was, had 
 half her sense. While those who saw a chance 
 for a little scandal, and had their suspicions and 
 "believe so's" all ready, were utterly dismayed 
 and brought to a complete standstill by the 
 evident hearty cooperation and affection of the 
 brother and sister, whom, they were ready to 
 believe, had quarreled. 
 
 " She thinks a sight more of him than she 
 used to," said one of these kind friends, neglect- 
 ing her morning's work to peep out of her 
 "best-room" blinds to watch them go by. "She
 
 70 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 never took his arm afore in the daytime in all 
 this world." 
 
 " She's feathered her nest," said a neighbor 
 who had " just stepped in to borrow a flat-iron," 
 and had stayed half an hour. " I'm sorry for 
 John ; I have been all along. He ain't half smart 
 enough to match her ; never was. An' Judith 
 Pettibone'll look out for herself, you may be 
 sure." 
 
 " That's so, I do believe," said the first woman, 
 coming back from her post of observation when 
 there was nothing more to be seen. "Well, I 
 must get back to work. Yis, she's got quite as 
 much, I'll be bound, by old Mr. Pettibone's leavin' 
 it to John, with the care of her thrown in, as 
 if 'twas t'other way. John alwus was a generous 
 boy." 
 
 And so the tongues wagged. Meanwhile Miss 
 Judith, having once explained to the complete 
 vindication of her brother and his wife, her 
 movements as coming entirely from her own free 
 choice, took up her new life, and let the gossip 
 have free rein until it wore itself out. 
 
 Parson and Mrs. Whittaker alone remained 
 unconvinced, until they saw John and his fam- 
 ily, and watched their actions narrowly, day by
 
 /.# WHICH EVERYBODY SPECULATES. 71 
 
 day. At last even the minister's wife was forced 
 to admit that Judith had only herself to thank 
 for it all, if she was shut off from the comforts 
 of her father's house. 
 
 "For certainly, my dear," observed the minis- 
 ter, as they were plodding home from the 
 conference room one stormy evening, "he is 
 the kindest brother that one could wish for. 
 Did you notice him pulling up her shawl 
 around her after meeting? and then he always 
 goes home with her ; and in every way I've 
 noticed he tries to anticipate every want." 
 
 "I know it," she admitted. "Well, Adoni- 
 ram, it's one of the strangest things ; beyond 
 me to explain. If we hadn't known Judith so 
 many years, and loved her so much, why, I 
 believe I should begin to think she was a bit 
 freaky. But that's impossible, as we do know, 
 and we do love her. So I don't know ho^v to 
 explain it." 
 
 " And not knowing, we shall be obliged to 
 let it rest, where every thing else unexplaina- 
 ble has to rest in the end with the parties 
 themselves. Well, here we are at home. That's 
 ours, anyway, Sarah." 
 
 ' And because it is," said his wife, " and
 
 72 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 we can say it so gladly, I want to feel the 
 same for Judith and her home. I should be 
 so glad to keep her from any more sorrow." 
 
 " Well, she looks comfortable and unshaken as 
 ever," said the minister, turning in at his own 
 gate, with a vision of dressing-gown and slippers 
 dancing before his tired eyes. 
 
 " Yes, that's it," cried his wife. " ' Unshaken 
 as ever.' That's the very thing. I declare, hus- 
 band, I don't believe any of us have begun to 
 know Judith Pettibone yet." 
 
 But when, after getting smoothly settled in 
 her new home, and helping her little sister-in- 
 law to domesticate her young brood into the old 
 homestead on the hill, Miss Judith announced 
 through Mrs. Parson Whittaker, that she should 
 be open to engagements from all those who had 
 boys to wear out jackets and trousers, to supply 
 the same, public opinion took another whirl, 
 and again the town was full of conjectures and 
 rumors, flying like shuttlecocks from house to 
 house. 
 
 " To think of a Pettibone doin' such a thing ! " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Bassett, the shoemaker's wife, 
 in the intermission, on the following Sabbath.
 
 IN WI1ICII EVERYBODY SPECULATES. 73 
 
 " Mis. Folinsbee, your dress'll ketch ef you stand 
 so near the stove. I'm glad on't now. Some of 
 their pride's got to tumble." 
 
 " I don't know why it should," said Deacon 
 Badger dryly. " Miss Pettibone ain't driv' to it, 
 Mis. Bassett. She'd druther ; an' I donno's it's 
 anybody's business to say any thin' agin' it, any 
 way. For my part, I sh'll give her all our boys' 
 clothes to make, an' I wish there was more." 
 
 "So sh'll I," spoke up a round, apple-faced 
 woman, who had a whole houseful of boys. 
 " That'll set her up alone te-hee-hee ! An' 
 for the first time in my life I shan't scold 
 'em ef they do scrub out their knees an' elbows. 
 It'll be all grist to Miss Judith's mill. She's 
 helped me times enough when I was poor." 
 
 " It's a grateful heart that can carry a memory 
 as far back as that," said the minister's voice 
 coming up back of them. 
 
 "O, Mr. Whittaker!" said the apple-faced 
 woman, starting and whirling around, her rosy 
 face getting rosier still ; " I didn't know's you 
 was there ! Well, it's true, every word on't. 
 An' I hope I shan't be left to forget it, all 
 Miss Judith's kindness to me. An' I say " 
 here the apple-faced woman lowered her voice
 
 74 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 to an impressive key and looked around on the 
 circle surrounding the big stove "ef she chooses 
 to take in jackets an' trousers to make for the 
 children, why, we'd all, who've got boys, orter 
 give her a lift. I will, until mine are ready to 
 put on swaller-tails. Who else will ? " 
 
 "I and I an' me" went on through 
 the group, from one to another. 
 
 "You have a good number of supporters, 
 Mrs. Parsons," said the minister, smiling approv- 
 ingly ; " and it looks well for Miss Ju " 
 
 "Sh ! " said one of the matrons in a stage 
 whisper; "here she comes." 
 
 Miss Pettibone came down the aisle, hold- 
 ing the hand of a child, who, for some reason 
 or other, was on the point of breaking out 
 into a perfect roar of indignation and distress. 
 Its hat was crushed over its eyes, so that 
 nothing of its face was to be seen, and, as it 
 stumbled aimlessly along, muffled sobs came 
 forth, that boded ill for the quiet of the old 
 church. 
 
 " One of ' brother John's children,' " whispered 
 an old lady to her next neighbor. " They're 
 alwus a-taggin' after Judith." 
 
 " Bobby Jane, you must not act so ! " cried
 
 IN W IIK II EVERYBODY SPECULATES. 75 
 
 a tall boy, rushing up behind his aunt and the 
 small figure as they proceeded on their way down 
 the aisle. 
 
 "Oh, I will I will!" cried the child, 
 scuttling up to Miss Judith's side, and burst- 
 ing out afresh with every step. " I will go 
 home with my aunt Judy. Oh, I will ! I will ! 
 
 "No you mustn't either," cried the boy; "let 
 go of her hand now. She can't be bothered 
 with you. Let go, Bobby Jane." 
 
 "Oh, I will I will I " came in vocif- 
 erous shouts from underneath the small hat ; 
 while the wildest of kicks on all sides where the 
 interferer of her peace was supposed to be, 
 showed plainly her intentions in that direction. 
 
 " Let her alone, Tom," said Miss Judith 
 quietly, " I will see to her. You tell your mother 
 that she needn't worry about her." 
 
 " Won't she plague you ? " asked the boy, 
 standing still. 
 
 "When I get tired of her I'll bring her 
 back," said Miss Judith with a bright smile. 
 
 " There, I am goin'," said the small voice, 
 coming out of her shouts with a gasp ; and 
 she jammed up the hat, which, in her woful
 
 76 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 state, she hadn't thought it worth her while 
 to touch, and brought into view one black 
 eye, while she vigorously employed the disen- 
 gaged mitten in wiping off the tear-stains 
 from her chubby countenance. " So ! to stay 
 al 1 day with my aunt Judy; so!" 
 
 " Not all day, Bobby Jane," said the tall 
 boy, looking back; "you'll wear aunt Judith 
 out. Don't tease her now." 
 
 "All day!" said the child decidedly, and 
 hanging on to the strong hand for dear life. 
 " I ain't ever comin' home any more." 
 
 "You'll have to live with some of them, 
 Miss Judith," said Parson Whittaker with a 
 laugh ; " I don't see but what it's a foregone 
 conclusion. Bobby Jane, won't you come home 
 with me ? Jimmy would be very glad indeed 
 to see you." 
 
 " I don't want to see Jimmy," said the child 
 stoutly ; " I want my aunt Judy." With that she 
 began to tug violently at the end of the shawl 
 nearest her, and clamor to go. 
 
 " ' A little child shall lead them,' said the 
 minister thoughtfully, looking after them as they 
 went down the steps. 
 
 " Well, she's the most foolish woman I ever
 
 IN WHICH EVERYBODY SPECULATES. 77 
 
 see," declared Mrs. Bassett, determined to blame 
 somebody before she went home ; " an 'the idea 
 of givin' a child such a name. It's the most 
 redicerlous thing." 
 
 " Why, the child called herself so at first," said 
 Mrs. Whittaker quickly, " you know that, Mrs. 
 Bassett, don't you ? At least, the Bobby part ; 
 she tucked it on to the Jane, so they let her keep 
 it." 
 
 " It's all right," said Mrs. Bassett, accepting 
 the explanation she knew perfectly well before; 
 " she's more'n half a boy. Acts like Kedar the 
 whole time. Well, speakin' of Judith Pettibone, 
 if she won't live at the house an' hold up her 
 head where she's ben so long, she's dretful nigh- 
 sighted to have 'em all runnin' an' racin' after her 
 the whole everlastin' time. They're a-cuttin' by, 
 the whole kit of 'em, every single minute of the 
 day, goin' down to Miss Scarritt's. I do admire 
 to see folks consistent." 
 
 " You can enjoy it, then, whenever you look 
 at Judith," said the minister's wife with consid- 
 erable spirit, " for she's a light and example to 
 us all." 
 
 "Oh! of course of course," said Mrs. Bassett 
 quickly, " I didn't mean nothin' out of the way,
 
 78 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Mis. Whittaker. I only thought she was a makin' 
 a slave of herself for nothin'." 
 
 " She is doing her work in the world, Mrs. 
 Bassett," said the parson in a deep earnest voice. 
 "It will pay as the Lord's service always 
 does."
 
 BOBB Y JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO A CT. 79 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AND NOW BOBBY JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO ACT. 
 
 THE small brown house with the gambrel roof 
 peeping up under " Merwin's Hill," belong- 
 ing to the widow Scarritt, soon became trans- 
 formed from a stiff little dwelling, where only 
 Miss Samantha went in and out on her daily 
 rounds, and even the oat stepped in the established 
 way, to a shelter for happy children's hearts, where 
 they loved to come, bubbling over with fun or 
 sorry and forlorn from some childish grief. 
 
 The path up to the door between the lilac 
 bushes was well-worn, and the little gate had be- 
 come accustomed to its constant swinging by the 
 time the spring blossoms came, for " aunt Judy's" 
 was the place to which all the eyes in the old 
 homestead turned as the most delightful refuge in 
 existence. If they were very good, they could 
 run down for an hour or two, or to spend the day, 
 as the circumstances permitted. And whenever
 
 80 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 they were naughty, why, of course they must go 
 then, for aunt Judith to set matters straight and 
 start them again on the small upward road of 
 childish endeavor. 
 
 So it came to be pretty generally understood 
 that at all hours of the day Miss Pettibone's small 
 nieces and nephews were to find a welcome and a 
 hearty reception at the little brown house. And 
 the little feet clambered confidently up the 
 crooked stairs and into the low-ceilinged room, 
 where Miss Judith sat, in the midst of her snips 
 and bits, left after an embryo jacket or a little 
 pair of trousers had sprung into existence. 
 
 The jackets and the trousers seemed to have 
 always been just cut out before the arrival of the 
 children. And they mourned greatly because they 
 never could happen to be in time to see the process. 
 
 " If I should come very early, do you s'pose I'd 
 ever see 'em ? " asked Mehitable, when aunt 
 Judith tied on the little red hood, one cold after- 
 noon of the early spring, and bade her run home. 
 
 "You ain't comin' as early as I am," cried 
 Bobby Jane, squeezing up for her hood to be tied ; 
 " so ! An' besides, I'm goin' to bring my ni'- 
 gown next time, an' sleep one, two hundred 
 nights, I guess."
 
 BOBB Y JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO ACT. 81 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Mehitable, twisting her fingers 
 wistfully. That would be bliss indeed ! But she 
 didn't say any thing ; and aunt Judith's mind 
 being filled with her work, she never noticed the 
 children's talk, but let them depart ; only caution- 
 ing them to hurry home before it got dark. 
 
 " And take hold of hands, " she called after 
 them," and mind you don't stop on the way. " 
 
 The straggling light of early dawn came up 
 slowly over hill and dale, over field and brook. 
 The little world of Barkhamsted was asleep, 
 with the exception of some enterprising farm- 
 ers, who always wouW get up in the middle 
 of the night, and Bobby Jane. 
 
 On the edge of the big bed in the old 
 square room, she sat, with wide-open eyes 
 staring between the high posts at the little 
 window. 
 
 " It's most awful late, I guess, " she said soft- 
 ly to herself, afraid of waking Mehitable. 
 
 But the small head on the other side of 
 the big bed had no thought of stopping its 
 dreams thus early. So Bobby Jane, breathing 
 easily, stepped out as still as a mouse, on to 
 the cold floor. 
 
 "Ur r," she said, taking up first one
 
 82 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 foot and then the other; "I guess I'll get 
 into bed again an' wait." 
 
 But Mary Ann, a pudgy child of five who 
 had been reposing quietly in the middle, now 
 rolled over with a sleepy little grunt into 
 Bobby Jane's vacated place, and, with a long 
 sigh, settled herself for another nap. 
 
 As there was now no alternative, Bobby Jane 
 had to stay out in the cold. So, sitting down 
 by the side of the bed, she drew on her 
 shoes and stockings, thinking busily all the 
 while. 
 
 "She won't know I'm gone an' then I 
 guess I'll see aunt Judy cut out lots an' lots 
 of jackets, an' I'll stay to breakfast an' I 
 mustn't forget my ni'-gown, an' " 
 
 But Bobby Jane having by this time 
 arrayed her feet, succeeding in tying the rusty 
 shoe-strings in a manner satisfactory to her- 
 self, at least, she started up and went around 
 the big room on her tiptoes, with one eye 
 constantly on the four-poster and its contents. 
 
 As it was a little difficult to dress under 
 such circumstances, she concluded to abridge 
 the operation as much as possible. So, leaving 
 off such pieces of clothing as she considered
 
 BOBB T JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO ACT. 83 
 
 superfluous, she rolled up the little night-dress, 
 and started softly down-stairs. 
 
 " I donno where my sack is, " she said to 
 herself, taking hold of the railing, and observ- 
 ing the greatest care that the old stairs should 
 not spoil all by creaking, "nor my hood 
 oh dear ! I'll go without ; I can run ; an' when 
 I do get to aunt Judy's I'll be as warm as 
 toast. " 
 
 The very thought of " Aunt Judy " pro- 
 duced such a warming, comforting effect, that 
 Bobby Jane opened the big door and went 
 quickly out, with no thought of the darkness, 
 nor the chill air that greeted her. 
 
 Skipping over the hard ground with her 
 little bundle tightly clasped within her arms, 
 she had proceeded quite a distance from the 
 big old house, that loomed up in the gray light 
 on the brow of the hill, when she heard a voice, 
 and then steps coming, and then another voice. 
 
 As quick as a flash, she scuttled over the 
 old stone wall, and tumbled down with her 
 bundle, underneath a small thicket of scrub 
 oaks, where she huddled in a little heap close 
 to the damp ground. 
 
 " They'll send me home, " she muttered,
 
 84 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "whoever 'tis, an' then Hetty'll run over after 
 breakfast an' an' " 
 
 Her teeth fell to chattering at this point, 
 so that all her attention was soon directed to 
 those useful members and the chills that now 
 began to run up and down her small spinal 
 column, while she rubbed her hands and 
 hugged up the bundle, in the vain attempt to 
 keep warm. 
 
 The feet stopped just on the other side of 
 the wall, but the voices went on. 
 
 "Yes," said one. "Now, Deacon, I'm glad 
 I met you. Seems funny for you to be out 
 so arly. "Taint as if you couldn't call no 
 minute your own, like me. " 
 
 " Nothin' but sickness would a took me 
 out, " said the other voice ; " but my wife's sis- 
 ter is down with newmony Adeline's over 
 there, an' she's just sent Baker's boy arter 
 me. I'm afraid poor Loulsy ain't a goin' to 
 weather it. " 
 
 "Sho! now, that's too bad," said the. neigh- 
 bor sympathizingly. " Have Doctor Pilcher ? " 
 
 " Yis," said the Deacon ; " of course. There 
 ain't no one else to have. An' besides, Pil- 
 cher's a good man. He knows what he's about. "
 
 BOBB Y JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO A CT. 85 
 
 " Well now, Deacon Badger, " said the other 
 voice decidedly, " there's two opinions on that 
 pint, an' I'll give you mine. Ef I wanted 
 Louisa to step into her grave afore her time, 
 why, I'd jest cut sticks for Doctor Pilcher. 
 He don't know nothin', to begin with, an' he 
 thinks he knows all creation ; so he jest stuffs 
 people with his old drugs an' kills 'em, Dea- 
 con Badger. Fact ; I think my boy'd a been 
 alive this very day ef I'd a kep him out of 
 Doctor Pilcher's clutches. " 
 
 "Oh, no, I guess not," said the Deacon in a 
 soothing voice. "Well, I'm willin' to run my 
 chances in Doctor Pilcher's hands. An' Loulsy's 
 alwus had him. He's begun the case, an'" 
 
 " An' he'll finish it, " said the other grimly. 
 " Well, as you say, I don't suppose you can 
 do nothin' now, Deacon. Of course folks has 
 their own idees, an' they certainly orter be 
 allowed to choose their own doctor. Well, 
 you're in a hurry, an' so am I ; so good-day." 
 
 He flung his long figure over the wall, 
 while the Deacon's footsteps sounded fainter 
 and fainter down the road. 
 
 Bobby Jane gasped with terror. Only an 
 inch, and the big man coming over the stone-
 
 86 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 wall would have discovered her hiding-place 
 by nearly crushing her small body out of 
 existence. But his foot swinging around con- 
 siderately left just that inch, and he was 
 already striding off across the field, with his 
 mind on his own affairs. 
 
 As soon as she was fairly sure that he had 
 gotten out of sight and hearing, she sprang 
 up and tumbled speedily back again into the 
 road. But here she found that she could not 
 possibly run on her half-frozen, cramped little 
 feet, so a few valuable moments were lost 
 in slapping and rubbing them into a state 
 suitable for the purpose for which they were 
 intended. At last, being in running order, 
 Bobby Jane set out ; and this time nothing 
 prevented ; so that she soon stood underneath 
 Miss Judith's window, clamoring to be let in. 
 
 Miss Pettibone slept unusually heavy that 
 morning. Having had an extra amount of 
 work that had worried her that week, because 
 every mother wanted her boys fitted out in 
 one and the same moment, she had pressed 
 all her energies to their utmost. And Miss 
 Scarritt and her mother being in the old 
 bedroom at the back of the house, it seemed
 
 BOBB r JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO A CT. 87 
 
 as if Bobby Jane never would make herself 
 heard now that she had arrived. 
 
 But following one whoop of distress that 
 had all her heart in it, she finally had the 
 extreme satisfaction of seeing Miss Judith's 
 window fly open, and a white night-cap appear. 
 
 " Oh ! ooh ooh ooh ! " cried Bobby Jane, 
 hopping up on her toes, and waving the bundle 
 in delight at the prospect of relief. 
 
 " For the goodness me ! " cried Miss Judith 
 in astonishment ; an awful dread seized her heart 
 that had received so many blows of late, and 
 she could scarcely get down the stairs to 
 drag the little frozen thing in. 
 
 " Somebody must be dreadfully sick," she 
 thought as she hurried along, "to send that 
 child out at this time." 
 
 But when her eyes fell on the scantily 
 attired little figure of her niece, she raised 
 her hands, unable to express her amazement 
 by any words. 
 
 " I've got here," mumbled Bobby Jane, 
 scuttling up the crooked stairs to get to 
 aunt Judith's fire. " Ain't you so glad, aunt 
 Judy ? " 
 
 " Who is sick ? tell me at once ! " cried
 
 88 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Miss Judith, throwing off her head-gear and 
 beginning to dress, making rapid plans mean- 
 while. 
 
 " No one," said Bobby Jane, flinging away 
 her bundle delighted, and dropping on the old- 
 fashioned carpet before the stove to stick out 
 her toes for the longed-for warmth. " Oh my ! 
 ain't that good, aunt Judy ? Now, will you 
 begin to cut out things ? Say, now, will 
 you " 
 
 Aunt Judith dropped into a chair and looked 
 at the child for about a moment. 
 
 " Well," she said, " I can't scold you till I 
 get some life into you. If you haven't caught 
 your death, I miss my guess! Now, Bobby 
 Jane, do you just scramble into the bed there, 
 and pull the clothes up tight, and do you 
 stay there till I tell you to get out." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't want to," said Bobby Jane, 
 beginning to whimper ; " I'm warm here. I 
 want to see you cut out things. Say, now, 
 will you begin ? say, will you ? " 
 
 " Do you go ! " commanded aunt Judith. 
 
 " Oh dear, dear," grumbled Bobby Jane, 
 getting up from the floor and flouncing over 
 toward the big bed ; " I don't want to "
 
 JiOBR Y JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO ACT. 89 
 
 " And seeing you've brought along your 
 night-gown," said Miss Judith grimly, going 
 over to it and picking it up, " why, you * 
 may as well put it on." 
 
 "Oh no, no, no!" roared Bobby Jane, 
 pausing as she was about to step disconsolately 
 into her prison. " That ain't for now. That's 
 for to-night, aunt Judy. I'm going to stay all 
 night ; I am ! " 
 
 " Folks who come to see me when they're 
 not invited," said Miss Judith calmly, "must 
 do as / say. Now, then, the cold's taken off, 
 so clap it on." 
 
 Seeing no help for it, Bobby Jane put on 
 her habiliments of woe, and tucked herself 
 into the big bed, while Miss Judith bustled 
 around for mustard and thoroughwort tea. 
 
 "Drink it," she said, coming to the side of 
 the bed with a big bowl of the last-named 
 decoction. 
 
 "Oh! I don't want it," protested Bobby 
 Jane in a husky little voice ; " I don't." 
 
 " Mercy ! you're hoarse as a crow already," 
 exclaimed Miss Judith, " and your cheeks are 
 hot. Did you come straight here, Bobby Jane," 
 she demanded, " and run every step of the way ? "
 
 90 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "No, I didn't," said Bobby Jane, welcoming 
 any conversation as relief from the tea ; " I sat 
 <lown in some bushes while some horrid old 
 men was a talkin'. Oh, dear, dear ! " 
 
 " How long did you sit there ? " asked Miss 
 Judith sharply. 
 
 " I d'no," croaked Bobby Jane. " Most two 
 hours, I guess." 
 
 " Drink it ! " said Miss Judith, holding the 
 bowl to the small mouth. 
 
 Bobby Jane cast one look up into the face 
 above her, then opened her mouth. 
 
 "I don't like it here," she wailed, bur- 
 rowing deep in the bed when the mixture was 
 well down. "Oh! ugh oh!" At that a 
 violent sputtering ensued, attesting to the truth 
 of her words. 
 
 "And now I expect your folks will be about 
 worried to death," said Miss Judith, dressing 
 rapidly, " and I can't wake Samantha, for it 
 will worry her ma. Let me think." 
 
 She went over to the window fronting the 
 road, and looked anxiously up and down. 
 
 " If I could only see somebody going up 
 John's way," she said to herself. "Oh! here 
 comes a man ; he's headed that way; I'll ask him."
 
 BOBB Y JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO ACT. 91 
 
 She threw a big shawl around her shoulders 
 and waited till the figure came nearer. Then, 
 raising the window, she called quickly : 
 
 "Will you stop at John Pettibone's the big 
 house on the hill, and tell him Bobby Jane is 
 here, and ask him to come down right 
 away ? " 
 
 "John Pettibone's?" repeated the voice, be- 
 longing to a tall figure wrapped in a great- 
 coat, whose face, being concealed under a cap 
 drawn down to protect from the early spring 
 air, she couldn't see. 
 
 "Yes," she repeated clearly; "and tell him 
 to come right away." 
 
 With that she shut the window and went 
 back to stick mustard plasters all over Bobby 
 Jane's small frame wherever her condition 
 seemed to require them. 
 
 It wasn't in reality but ten minutes, though 
 it seemed to her a good half hour, before John's 
 footsteps sounded over the crooked stairs, and 
 his frightened face appeared in the door. 
 
 Miss Judith pointed to the bed where Bobby 
 Jane had forgotten all her tribulations as far 
 as she could in an uneasy sleep, and, draw- 
 ing her brother out into the narrow hall, she
 
 92 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 gave him in a few words all the particulars 
 as far as she knew them. 
 
 " Nobody knows how long the child sat on 
 the damp ground," she finished up, "with 
 scarcely no clothes on. Now, John, if you 
 want my advice of course you must do as you 
 think best I should send for Doctor Pilcher. 
 I'll take the best of care of her ; be glad to. 
 But she seems to be taken differently from a 
 common cold, and the tea and mustard pastes 
 don't appear to do a bit of good." 
 
 John looked into his sister's face without a 
 thought of going against her opinion. 
 
 " I'll go right over for him," he said. " Gusty's 
 comin' be here in a minute ; but the baby 
 got to cryin' so that she couldn't leave him 
 then. Oh ! who was that man you sent to tell 
 me, Judith ? " he asked, looking back on his 
 way down the stairs. 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure," she said. " I 
 couldn't see his face. Some one around here, 
 I suppose. Do hurry, John ! " 
 
 "Well, twasn't," said her brother, proceed- 
 ing down the stairs and opening the front door; 
 " I never saw him before. I'll fetch the Doc- 
 tor, Judith, as quick as I can."
 
 BOBB Y JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO ACT. 93 
 
 Doctor Pilcher, a little man with a thin, nervous 
 figure, an extremely sharp pair of dark eyes, 
 and a manner as if the world had given chase 
 to him ever since he had been born he pos- 
 sessing the power to elude it until the present 
 time struck an impressive attitude over the 
 little figure in the middle of the big bed, 
 nodding his head solemnly at Miss Judith's 
 explanations and accounts of the remedies ad- 
 ministered. 
 
 John and his wife, and as many of the chil- 
 dren as could be spared from home, crowded 
 up around him, and stared with all their 
 might. 
 
 " She must have something more than that," 
 said the little Doctor at last, very pompously. 
 And bending over the small sleeper, he listened 
 to her breathing. 
 
 Just at this moment Bobby Jane stirred and 
 opened her eyes, and, seeing such a solemn 
 assembly gazing at her, began to cry. 
 
 " There, there ! don't, dear ! " exclaimed Miss 
 Judith, sitting down on the bed to wipe away 
 the tears, while the mother put her arms 
 around her neck, and drew the little stubby 
 head close to her bosom.
 
 04 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "It's nice Doctor Pilcher," said her father 
 coaxingly. " And he'll give you " 
 
 What, he never finished ; for Bobby Jane, as 
 quick as a flash, brought her head up out of 
 its comforting refuge, and burst out into a 
 hoarse, wheezy scream, so terrible, that every- 
 body started in dismay. 
 
 "He'll stu uff me!" she wheezed. "Oh, 
 don't let him! don't let him! O oh! Don't 
 let him ! " 
 
 She clung to her mother's neck in such 
 terror, screaming every moment, that no one 
 could make a word of comfort reach her ear. 
 
 "He killed some one he did! he did!" 
 she cried, between a pant and a roar ; " Deacon 
 Badger said so o ! " 
 
 Little Doctor Pilcher started, while every 
 drop of blood flew to his face. 
 
 "She's delirious," said Miss Judith calmly. 
 " Now, Doctor Pilcher, I'll get you a glass 
 and you want a spoon, don't you ? " and she 
 went rapidly over to the high, old-fashioned 
 mantel, where, in its angle, a cupboard with 
 numberless little shelves held her simple materia 
 medica, in the shape of bundles of dried herbs, 
 a few cough syrups, and several bottles of
 
 BOBBY JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO ACT. 95 
 
 liniment, etc., together with one or two bits 
 of china of a quaint pattern, and an occasional 
 stray piece of silver that brother John had 
 insisted on her taking from the old homestead. 
 With a vague dread of something unpleasant 
 impending, Miss Judith flung open the door of 
 her little " Old maid's medicine chest," as she 
 called it, and took down an antique coffee-cup 
 and spoon, which she quickly presented to 
 the irate little Doctor. 
 
 " This will do, I suppose," she said with a 
 laugh, holding it for him to measure the drops 
 into. "And perhaps the medicine will be none 
 the worse because our grandmothers and great 
 grandmothers drank from the cup." 
 
 But all attempts at pleasantry failed utterly. 
 The little Doctor's mouth was set in the grim-, 
 mest fashion, while the angry blood still surged 
 all over his face ; and his eyes were a sight to 
 behold as he counted off the drops that fell into 
 the ancestral cup. 
 
 " Mercy ! " thought Miss Judith after one 
 glance ; " if he hasn't killed some one, I don't 
 know but he will now ! ' fc Then she looked over 
 at John and his wife, who seemed to have sud- 
 denly had a sponge drawn over their counte-
 
 96 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 nances, so completely was every expression wiped 
 out. " Now then, brother," she said in the 
 most cheerful manner possible as Doctor Pilcher 
 twisted the cork into the phial, which he put 
 with a vicious little click back in his big case, 
 "you must give the child her medicine, for she 
 doesn't know what she's about." And she ex- 
 tended the cup to him, 
 
 " Hey ? " said John. " Oh ! " and grasping the 
 cup, he came out of his bewilderment enough to 
 command Bobby Jane to open her mouth and 
 swallow its contents. Notwithstanding her vio- 
 lent protest that she didn't want it, and that 
 she wouldn't be stuffed, it was finally, by the 
 united efforts of all the members of the family 
 who v/ere assembled around her bedside, forced 
 between her teeth ; then the exhausted relatives 
 each drew a long breath, and turned to see what 
 was next to be done. 
 
 Doctor Pilcher was standing by the door, 
 pulling on his gloves. 
 
 " You won't need my services again," he said 
 stiffly, his face still red with passion, and his 
 eyes blazing on them all. " She'll come out of 
 it iioiv, all right." 
 
 "If she isn't any better, we shall send for
 
 BOBB Y JANE FEELS CALLED UPON TO ACT. 97 
 
 you, Doctor Pilcher," cried Miss Judith warmly. 
 "Oh, we can't thank you enough!" 
 
 " No indeed ! " echoed John Pettibone. Then 
 his senses coming to him, he took out his old 
 leather pocket-book, and extracting a double fee, 
 he reached over to the claw-footed table, tore 
 off a bit from one of a pile of newspapers, and 
 twisted up the money in it. "There," he said, 
 pushing the wad into the angry little man's hand, 
 "that won't half pay you, but it will help tell 
 you how we feel about your saving the child's 
 life ! " 
 
 "There's no necessity," said the little Doctor, 
 having the greatest difficulty in speaking at all, 
 " for all this parade of gratitude. Good-day ! " 
 
 Vouchsafing no other words, and with a part- 
 ing glare, he opened the door, snapped it to 
 hastily, and stalked down the crooked little stairs 
 like a man who was determined to have it out 
 with any disturbers of his peace, whoever they 
 might be.
 
 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT ISN'T ALTOGETHER A 
 SUCCESS. 
 
 MISS JUDITH looked straight into her 
 brother's eyes. 
 
 " One of us must go down to Deacon 
 Badger's and tell him about it," she said 
 abruptly, "for there's going to be a perfect 
 tempest of words. You know what a hot- 
 tempered creature Doctor Pilcher is, John." 
 
 "Well, / can't go," he said helplessly. 
 " Mercy, Judith ! I shouldn't know any more 
 than those tongs what to say when I got 
 there." 
 
 She couldn't deny it. And going over to 
 the bed, looked down into the little face on 
 the pillow. 
 
 "She's going to sleep," whispered 'Gusty 
 between her tears. "O Judith," she cried 
 softly, "do you s'pose she'll git over it?"
 
 BOBB Y JANE' S MAN A GEMENT. 99 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Judith encouragingly, "her 
 flesh is moist now, and her breathing's regular. 
 And besides, a child that can work such a 
 lot of mischief as she has this morning, will 
 be spared to work a sight more. Don't you 
 be frightened, Gusty, she'll do well enough 
 now. I'm going down to the Deacon's, but 
 I'll be back before you can begin to miss me." 
 
 She tied on her bonnet, threw the big 
 shawl over her shoulders, and hurried off at 
 a lively pace. 
 
 Going around the turn in the road that 
 brought Deacon Badger's house into view, she 
 saw, to her dismay, that Doctor Pilcher's gig 
 seemed to be just on the point of moving off 
 from the hitching-post. 
 
 "I'm too late, of course," she said to her- 
 self; "he's had plenty of time to make that 
 poor old man as wretched as possible. Well, 
 I'll go in and do the best I can ; " and she 
 hurried around to the side door and went in 
 abruptly. 
 
 The old Badger kitchen presented its cheer- 
 iest aspect. The glow from the fresh morning 
 fire in the big fire-place fell and danced over 
 the square table drawn out in the middle of
 
 100 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 the floor, set for the breakfast, and, breaking away 
 from this, essayed to light up the low ceil- 
 ing and the dark beams, playing in and out 
 among the dried herbs, the red peppers, and 
 the various homely garden products that dangled 
 therefrom, giving to each a grace changeful 
 as the flickering light that produced them. 
 
 But its loveliest glow was saved to invest 
 the young girl kneeling before the fire, with a 
 new beauty. Over her it danced and played 
 tenderly, as if so bright a thing should be 
 enveloped in light and happiness. It touched 
 the soft brown hair, bringing out a golden 
 gleam ; it kissed the pink cheek into a rosy 
 flush ; and lighted up the lovely eyes all 
 intent on her task. She was trying to fry a 
 slice of ham for the breakfast, and at the same 
 time to quell the clamorous cries of several 
 children who hung around her every move- 
 ment impatiently, or drummed on the table, 
 demanding their morning meal. 
 
 Over in the further corner by the east 
 window sat, in her big chair, great-grandmother 
 Badger, considerably along in her nineties, but 
 with an eye like an eagle's. The firelight 
 glinted along her cap-border, a little faint
 
 BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT. 101 
 
 flicker just resting on the aged face, turned, 
 as the door opened. 
 
 " Why, Judith ! " she cried as she saw who 
 it was ; "I am real glad to see you." 
 
 " Is Deacon Badger in ? " asked Miss Judith 
 without any preamble, and going up to the 
 old lady's big chair. 
 
 " Oh, no ; " great-grandmother's smile faded, 
 and she said solemnly, " LouTsy's took worse, 
 and Ad'line sent for him about four o'clock." 
 
 " I didn't know that Louisa was worse," 
 said Miss Judith sympathizingly. Then in a 
 flash shot through her mind Bobby Jane's words. 
 
 " Yes," began Lucy, trying to slip two or 
 three pieces of potato into the frying-pan, but 
 only succeeding in landing them nicely on 
 the glowing coals beneath. 
 
 " Here, let me do that, child," said Miss 
 Judith, quickly slipping off her shawl. "Your 
 hands aren't big enough yet," she added kindly, 
 "for very tough work." 
 
 "Aunt Louisa's awful sick," volunteered one 
 of the twins, crowding up. " She's most deaded. 
 Ain't breakfast ready ?" 
 
 "She's all deaded," declared the other twin, 
 not to be outdone.
 
 102 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "Here comes a man," announced great-grandma, 
 looking out of the window. "Why, it's Doctor 
 Pilcher! LouTsy must be gone." 
 
 " Goodness ! " cried Miss Judith, setting 
 down the frying-pan and its contents on the 
 hearth hurriedly, "twon't do for him to see me 
 here," and she stepped into the pantry and 
 pulled to the door. 
 
 This strange proceeding on Miss Pettibone's 
 part had the effect to draw off the attention 
 of the whole family from the appearance of 
 the little Doctor until he began to speak. 
 Then they forgot every thing else. 
 
 " I've rapped till I'm tired at the other door ! " 
 They couldn't help but look when he snapped 
 this out, his face was so red ; and his little 
 eyes had such a ferocious sparkle as he re- 
 garded each one of the group as if responsible 
 for a personal insult to him. "But it's all of 
 a piece with the rest of the insulting treatment 
 I have received. Is your grandfather in ? " he 
 asked of Lucy abruptly. 
 
 "No, sir," she answered; her eyes full of 
 wonder. 
 
 " He's over at Loulsy's," spoke up great- 
 grandma from her window. " How is she, Doctor ?
 
 BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT. 103 
 
 Won't you sit down ? Lucy, get a chair." 
 
 " No, I thank you," exclaimed Doctor Pilcher 
 with cold dignity, waving off all attempts on 
 Lucy's part to be hospitable. "I wouldn't sit 
 down a moment in this house; don't trouble 
 yourself. You asked after your daughter, 
 madam. She is better." 
 
 The old lady in her anxiety about her daughter 
 overlooked his queer words and manner, and 
 leaning forward, she exclaimed eagerly, " Is she 
 goin' to get well ? " 
 
 " Going to get well ! " repeated the Doctor 
 irritably ; " of course she is, if they follow my 
 directions. I'll come in again and see your 
 grandfather," he said to the children. " And 
 in the meantime, you tell him from me, will 
 you, that I shan't so easily let him off for 
 what he's said about me. And that I con- 
 sider him a pretty man to be a deacon of a 
 Church! You just tell him t/iat." 
 
 With .that he stalked off to his gig, climbed 
 in, and drove away. 
 
 Miss Pettibone stepped out of the pantry 
 into the midst of the astonished children, who 
 had flown over to great-grandma's side in a 
 perfect whirlwind, to know what it was all about.
 
 104 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "To talk about my son!" cried the poor old 
 lady, trying to get up in her excitement. 
 " There, there, Dicky, don't holler so. My son ! 
 What does he mean, Judith ? " 
 
 " Won't he kill grandpa ? " asked Dicky, 
 stopping his deafening roar for just one second. 
 " Say, great-grandma, won't he ? " 
 
 " Nonsense, no ! " said great-grandma, who, if 
 a centenarian, had lost none of her spirit. " He 
 can't hurt your grandpa any. But to think," 
 she cried indignantly, and raising her trembling 
 withered hands, " that he sh'd a dared say any 
 thing against that good man ! Oh, to think 
 he sh'd a dared ! " 
 
 She sank back exhausted into the depths of 
 her chair, while the children, finding that their 
 grandfather was not to be dispatched immedi- 
 ately, for the appeasing of Doctor Pilcher's blood- 
 thirsty appetite, hopped off one by one, leaving 
 Lucy with a troubled face by the big chair. 
 
 "I can explain all this," said Miss Judith, 
 laying her hand on the trembling one of great- 
 grandma, " I think ; although how Bobby Jane ever 
 got hold of such an idea I'm sure I don't see." 
 
 And in a few words she laid before the old 
 lady and the young girl with the troubled face,
 
 BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT. 105 
 
 the whole story that brought her to them at 
 such an early hour. 
 
 " Why, he never said so ! " exclaimed the old 
 lady in the greatest amazement, when the story 
 was finished. " Never, in all this world. He 
 thinks there's nobody like Doctor Pilcher ; alwus 
 did." 
 
 " He never said so ! " repeated Lucy, with 
 two pink cheeks. 
 
 " Of course he never did," cried Miss Judith 
 earnestly. " Do you suppose I believe it ? Bobby 
 Jane's made some terrible mistake, though I 
 can't see where or how she got such an idea," 
 she added, with a puzzled face. " Well, don't 
 you worry a bit about it," she said, changing 
 her tone to one of great cheeriness ; " it'll all 
 come right, I feel it in my bones, Mrs. 
 Badger," she added with a laugh. " And as 
 soon as the child gets better, I'll find out 
 what she has heard, and straighten the whole 
 thing out, if it takes a year and a day." 
 
 " Well, you'll do it, Judith, " said the old 
 lady, trying to smile, " if anybody can. You 
 alwus was a good girl. " And she smiled on 
 her affectionately. 
 
 " Well, as my small niece has taken it upon
 
 106 TIIE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 herself to make such a heap of trouble, it's 
 no more than right that I should do what I 
 can to mend it," said Miss Judith quietly. 
 " Goodness ! how near Doctor Pilcher came to 
 finding me here ! " she exclaimed, while a com- 
 ical expression passed over her strong features. 
 " If that wouldn't have made matters worse ! 
 I thought the man was driving away, and to 
 think how I ran my head right into the 
 scrape. What should any of us have done 
 without that pantry!" 
 
 She glanced over at it in such a funny 
 way that great-grandma laughed outright, which 
 was exactly what Miss Judith had intended. 
 And when she saw the old lady cheered up, 
 Lucy came out from behind the troubled look, 
 and flew merrily off to the ham again. 
 
 "Now," said Miss Judith, following her, "we'll 
 see if we can get that dish on to the table. 
 Those poor children ! " she exclaimed. " They 
 must be as hungry as beavers. Where are 
 they ? " 
 
 " Out in the wood-shed, playing, " said Lucy. 
 " I hear their voices." 
 
 "Well, it's done," said Miss Judith, after a 
 few moments of sizzling and sputtering. " Now
 
 BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT. 107 
 
 then, there it is ! " and she slipped it off on 
 the dish, which she set upon the table. Then 
 she grasped her big shawl. " Good-by ! " she 
 said. 
 
 " Why, ain't you goin' to stay to breakfast, 
 Judith ? " called great-grandma, dreadfully dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 " Oh ! I can't, " said Miss Judith quickly. 
 " There's no telling what will happen with 
 Bobby Jane in the case, " she added merrily, 
 and was off. 
 
 Bobby Jane's mother sat by the side of the 
 bed watching quietly, and Bobby Jane herself 
 was in a lovely deep sleep when Miss Judith 
 walked in softly from her efforts at making 
 the tangled threads straight. The other chil- 
 dren had been sent home with all manner of 
 comforting assurances as to their little sister's 
 state, and every thing had now settled down 
 into an appearance of convalescence that prom- 
 ised good for the small patient. 
 
 'Gusty looked up with a glad welcome that 
 spoke more than her words. " It's good to 
 see you back, " she said. 
 
 Miss Judith smiled, and cast a keen glance 
 around.
 
 108 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " Has she taken much medicine ? " she asked 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " Hasn't taken any, " whispered 'Gusty. " She's 
 slept the whole time." 
 
 " That's good, " said Miss Judith approvingly. 
 " Better than medicine any day. " 
 
 Just then the door opened softly, and Miss 
 Scarritt's head appeared. 
 
 " I want you, Judith, " she whispered, beck- 
 oning violently. 
 
 Miss Judith went over to the door, when 
 the head disappeared, and the little dressmaker 
 said in her natural voice, standing back in the 
 hall, " Come down-stairs just a moment. " 
 
 " What in the world is the matter, Samantha ? " 
 asked Miss Judith, following the tripping steps 
 of her little friend down the stairs. 
 
 " It's just this, " said Miss Scarritt, going into 
 the "keeping-room"; "if you don't take a bite, 
 you'll go popping off the handle yourself. Here 
 you have been racin' an' runnin' ever sence that 
 young one come here this mornin' land knows 
 what time that was ! I don't. First place, waked up 
 in such a scarey way was enough to upset you 
 for all day ; an' you haven't put a speck of any 
 thin' between your two lips, I'll be bound. "
 
 BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT. 109 
 
 All this time little Miss Scarritt was skip- 
 ping around from cupboard to table, her rapid 
 movements keeping time with her tongue. And 
 she now set out before Miss Judith an ample 
 lunch, to which she implored her to do full 
 justice. 
 
 " An' here comes mother with the tea," she 
 exclaimed. " Now, Judith, you must take some- 
 thin' to please her." 
 
 " Yis, Judith, you must," repeated the old 
 lady, with a trembling hand pouring out a hot 
 cup; "you'll be sick, sure as the world!" 
 
 "I'm certainly willing to be persuaded," said 
 Miss Judith smilingly. " Samantha, you are a 
 comforter if there is one. This tea just 
 touches the spot, Mrs. Scarritt." 
 
 " I thought 'twas pooty nice," said the old 
 lady, dreadfully pleased. "S'manthy, have a 
 cup ? " 
 
 " I don't care ef I do, mother," said the 
 little dressmaker. " Here, let me get the cups, 
 an' you have a swaller too." 
 
 " No, you set still," said old Mrs. Scarritt, 
 waddling out to the kitchen ; " tain't often I 
 git a chance to wait on folks. You stay along 
 with Judith."
 
 110 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " Well, I declare ! " said a pleasant voice, 
 breaking in upon the cosy scene. " I was 
 afraid I should find you half sick, Judith." 
 
 " I didn't hear you come in, Mis. Whittaker," 
 exclaimed little Miss Scarritt, running to get 
 a chair for her minister's wife. 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Whittaker laughing; "you've 
 no idea what a comfortable picture you uncon- 
 sciously made. Thank you, Miss Samantha," 
 dropping into the chair. " Now, then, Judith, 
 what is all this about?" she asked. 
 
 " The same old story," said the little dress- 
 maker, taking the words out of Miss Judith's 
 mouth to narrate the " goin's on," as she 
 called it ; which she did with a gusto, finish- 
 ing up, "No matter where Judith is in the 
 big house on the top of the hill, or the little 
 cottage no bigger'n your thumb everybody 
 brings their troubles to her pell-mell. Here, 
 mother, here's Mis. Whittaker." 
 
 " Glad to see you," said old Mrs. Scarritt, 
 setting down her cups. "Now, S'manthy, you 
 git another one. Mis. Whittaker must hev a 
 swaller too." 
 
 " Oh, I can't stay, Mrs. Scarritt ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Whittaker, quickly. "Dear me! I've been
 
 BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT. Ill 
 
 away on some errands, and I heard all this 
 about Bobby Jane ; so I stopped in to inquire. 
 But I ought to be home this very minute. 
 Think of me sitting down to drink tea Saturday 
 morning ! " 
 
 " 'Twould be better for you if you did some- 
 times," said Miss Scarritt dryly, and sipping 
 hers with evident relish. " Souls is saved an' 
 fetched into the kingdom jest about as fast ef 
 folks take care of their bodies. You're a step- 
 pin' from mornin' till night, an' from Sabba'- 
 day till Sabba'clay. Where does your rest come 
 in, I'd like to know ? " 
 
 "Oh! I get enough," said Mrs. Whittaker, 
 taking a long breath; "and besides, a minis- 
 ter's wife ought not to think of herself," she 
 said with a smile. 
 
 " An' who will, then," cried the little dress- 
 maker explosively, " I'd like to inquire ? An' 
 why shouldn't she think of herself, poor thing ! 
 Yis ; an' then by-'m-by down she drops, an' 
 the minister is jest like an old shay with one 
 wheel off. Jest about as much good he does, 
 the rest o' his life ; that is, till he gits an- 
 other." 
 
 " Then you wouldn't think much of the min-
 
 112 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 ister you are going to hear to-morrow," said 
 Mrs. Whittaker with a spice of mischief, and 
 rising to go. 
 
 "Why, isn't Mr. Whittaker going to preach?" 
 asked Miss Judith ; while Miss Scarritt echoed 
 "Isn't he?" and the little widow looked up 
 with the same question in her face. 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Whittaker; "he was expect- 
 ing to, but he had an offer to exchange 
 came last night, or rather the minister did, so 
 as to have a little visit first with Mr. Whit- 
 taker. That friend of his, you know, Judith ? " 
 she said, turning to her. 
 
 "What, Mr. Whittaker's classmate, the one 
 that's just settled over in Franklin?" asked 
 Miss Judith, with great interest. 
 
 "Yes, that one," said Mrs. Whittaker; "the 
 Reverend Mr. Beebe," she explained to the Scar- 
 ritts, " and I wish that my husband could stay 
 at home and enjoy the whole of his visit, for 
 he does think so much of him ; always has. 
 The letters they have written back and forth 
 well, they are almost enough to rival the ser- 
 mons, put them all together." 
 
 " I wish Mr. Whittaker would stay to home," 
 observed Miss Scarritt decidedly, "an' the
 
 BOBB Y JAN& S MAN A GEMENT. 113 
 
 other man stay where he belongs. If he hain't 
 been settled long, seems to me he ought to stay 
 put." 
 
 "Oh, well, I don't know," said Mrs. Whit- 
 taker, starting for the door. " You may like 
 him now, ever so much." 
 
 Nevertheless she was so pleased at the trib- 
 ute to her husband that she lingered, her 
 hand on the latch, loath to go. 
 
 "You'll get out to-morrow, won't you, Ju- 
 dith?" she asked at last. "You know they're 
 depending on you for Miss Frisbie's class." 
 
 " If Bobby Jane is better," said Miss Judith. 
 " I think she is going to be by that time ; but 
 it all depends on her, my coming does." 
 
 "Oh, she's goin' to be smart by that time," 
 declared the little dressmaker. My senses ! that 
 child won't be long sick a-bed. I warrant you 
 she'll be up an' runnin' all around as peart as 
 a cricket before you know it." 
 
 "If you can be spared," said Mrs. Whittaker, 
 with an extremely anxious expression, "you 
 mustn't fail of coming, Miss Frisbie's class is 
 a very important one. You know that yourself, 
 Judith, as well as I do. And it can't be trusted 
 to every one," she said as a parting word.
 
 114 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "Did you fix it up about Doctor Pilcher?" 
 asked 'Gusty in an awful whisper, as soon as re- 
 freshed and strengthened by her visit down-stairs, 
 Miss Judith appeared again in the sick room. 
 
 " Not quite," said Miss Judith, speaking in a 
 low tone. " Don't whisper, Gusty ; your voice 
 goes twice as far." 
 
 " I know it," said Mrs. John Pettibone, in a 
 worse whisper than before. " I won't ; you've 
 alwus said so ; I won't. Well, is he awful 
 mad?" 
 
 " I'm afraid he is," said Miss Judith quietly. 
 "You know his temper is the worst of him, 
 Gusty." 
 
 "Oh dear me!" sighed the poor mother; "what 
 shall we do, Judith ? He may make a time, an' 
 then they'll git to fightin', an' they'll put 
 Deacon Badger out of the Church. They can't 
 put Doctor Pilcher out, because he ain't in ; that's 
 one comfort. But good Deacon Badger oh dear 
 me ! what shall we do, Judith ? " 
 
 "Nothing, just for a spell," said Miss Judith 
 with a smile. " Tisn't best to try too much to 
 help in a scrape, and get everybody by the ears. 
 I've explained it as far as I can to Deacon 
 Badger's folks. He's away himself, over to
 
 BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT. 115 
 
 Louisa Bennett's Adeline's sister, you know 
 so that when he gets home, why, they'll give 
 him the messages. If that don't bring him 
 here, why, he don't care much about it; that's 
 all ! " 
 
 And she was right. Just after dinner Mrs. 
 John Pettibone, having departed to the old home- 
 stead to look after her numerous family, sent Me- 
 hitable over to wait on aunt Judith and amuse 
 Bobby Jane, should she be in the state to be 
 amused. But Bobby Jane preferred to sleep more 
 than anything else ; and after each nap would turn 
 over and begin on another. So Miss Judith, to 
 have no wasted time on her conscience, brought 
 out a big piece of cloth, got her sharpest pair 
 of shears, and set to work to cut out a jacket 
 for the next customer on her list, Mehitable 
 hanging over her every movement with the 
 most intense delight. And so, after all that she 
 had passed through, Bobby Jane and the " cutting- 
 out " were just as much strangers as before. 
 
 "Deacon Badger is down-stairs," said Miss 
 Scarritt, bobbing into the room. Mehitable was 
 humming away to herself in intense enjoyment 
 in the corner over some bits of cloth, leaving 
 Miss Pettibone to baste in the sleeves in peace.
 
 116 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " I'll set by Bobby Jane while you run along 
 an' see him," added the little dressmaker with 
 a grim smile of approval in the direction of the 
 quiet bed. 
 
 Miss Judith laid down the little jacket and 
 hurried off gladly to meet the good man at the 
 foot of the stairs, who was in such a state of 
 excitement that he hung on to the railing to 
 conceal his impatience. 
 
 "I I want to know," he panted, " what is't 
 all this fuss ? I never said it, not a word of it. 
 An' I hain't seen John's children in a week or 
 more, 'specially that Bobby Jane. What is't all 
 about, any way?" 
 
 The usually mild Deacon thereupon indulged 
 in a glare so ferocious, that Miss Judith began 
 to have serious doubts of patching up this incip- 
 ient quarrel. However, she laughed and said : 
 
 "Well, now it's all a mistake, and a ridiculous 
 one, too, from beginning to end ; but let's see ; 
 perhaps we can straighten it. Have you ever 
 said any thing about Doctor Pilcher lately ? Ever 
 talked with any one about his skill ? " 
 
 "No; Je-ru Hold on, Judith ! I didn't say 
 any thin' ; yis, I have ! " cried the Deacon, slap- 
 ping one big hand against the other with a force
 
 BOBBY JANE'S MANAGEMENT. 117 
 
 that made Miss Judith start in spite of herself; 
 " this mornin', to Job Titus. But I didn't say 
 any thin' against the Doctor. I stood up for him. 
 Job was abusin' of him right an' left. You know 
 that boy of his that Miles ? Never was strong, 
 an' couldn't a growed up any way. Well, Titus 
 has alwus talked out openly about the Doctor; 
 alwus." 
 
 " Where were you ? " asked Miss Judith 
 quickly. 
 
 " Why, on the turnpike. He was a goin' off 
 cross lots to git an early job over to Potters- 
 town, an' I was on my way to Loulsy's. Ade- 
 line sent for me, you know." 
 
 Suddenly there flashed through Miss Judith's 
 mind Bobby Jane's " I sat down in some bushes, 
 while some horrid old men talked." " I have 
 it ! " she said quickly. 
 
 " Well, ef you have," exclaimed the poor 
 Deacon, " s'pose you jest pass it along, for it 
 beats me all out ; it does." 
 
 " The child probably was afraid you would send 
 her back home," said Miss Judith, when she 
 had been over, at least three times, her supposi- 
 tions as to how it all happened. "Don't you 
 see ? And so she hid, and of course heard the
 
 118 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 conversation and twisted the names up. That's 
 the whole of it. Oh, I'm so thankful ! " 
 
 "I'll go straight over to Franklin this after- 
 noon," cried the Deacon jubilantly, smiles of 
 delight bursting out all over his honest face, 
 " an' tell the Doctor all about it, an' hev' a 
 good hearty laugh with him." 
 
 " And I'll send for him Monday to come over 
 and see Bobby Jane," exclaimed Miss Judith, 
 scarcely less pleased than her good friend ; " I 
 would to-morrow, if it wasn't Sunday, and let 
 him hear her tell it. That'll make it all straight, 
 any way, Deacon Badger; and then how we 
 shall all laugh over this ridiculous affair from 
 beginning to end."
 
 WOESE AND WORSE FOE DEACON BADGER. 119 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 
 
 THE choir was laboriously singing the first 
 hymn as Miss Pettibone walked up the 
 broad aisle of the old church to her brother 
 John's seat. 
 
 Her little charge had been left in Miss Scar- 
 ritt's care, who protested solemnly that she should 
 " stay at home anyway with ma." As the old 
 lady had something of a cold, and her daughter 
 never felt comfortable at leaving her under such 
 circumstances, Miss Judith felt justified in accept- 
 ing the little dressmaker's offer to have an eye 
 to Bobby Jane. 
 
 But the small patient, who had now so far recov- 
 ered as to arrive at an extremely cross and unrea- 
 sonable state, immediately, at sight of Miss 
 Judith's preparations for church, set up the most 
 terrible to-do, declaring that " Aunt Judy mustn't 
 go ; oh no, she mustn't ! "
 
 120 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " That decides me ! " exclaimed Miss Judith, 
 going to the closet to reach down her big band- 
 box. " When children are able to tell what they 
 will have, and what they won't, and carry on 
 like that, it won't hurt them to be left alone 
 to find their senses. Good-by, Bobby Jane ; now 
 see how good a girl you can be, so that you'll be 
 glad to see me when I come back." 
 
 Bobby Jane, seeing that her aunt was noways 
 moved by her tirade, put up her little lips to be 
 kissed, exactly as well pleased as though Miss 
 Judith had been added to the number of her 
 slaves to do ber bidding. 
 
 All this, of course, made Miss Pettibone later 
 than usual when she set out for church ; and 
 going as rapidly over the ground as possible, as 
 she turned into the village Green she heard, 
 which didn't tend to allay her annoyance, the 
 singing that always preceded Mr. Whittaker's 
 long prayer. Hurrying up the steep steps, she 
 came suddenly at the top upon Deacon Badger, 
 who, with a long face and dolorous accents, 
 began nervously : 
 
 " I went over to Franklin, Judith, but Doctor 
 Pilcher had gone off on his rounds somewhere, 
 so I didn't see him. I declare I I thought
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 121 
 
 fust I couldn't come to church this mornin' ; I'm 
 so nervous, I can't set still. " 
 
 The poor Deacon's face was working ner- 
 vously, every feature twitching with excitement, 
 while his little eyes peered anxiously into Miss 
 Judith's for the least grain of comfort. 
 
 " Oh ! it will all be right, " said Miss Judith 
 cheerfully, panting a little from her hurried 
 walk, but longing to bestow that comfort. 
 " Don't you worry, Deacon Badger ; I'll send 
 for him to-morrow to see Bobby Jane, and 
 that will fix it. " She took his trembling hand 
 in her own strong palm and pressed it warmly. 
 " Cheer up, " she said, smiling up into his wor- 
 ried face. " It can't help but be fixed up, for 
 it's too ridiculous to merit a serious thought. " 
 
 Brother John made a great squeaking and 
 bustling, getting up to let her into the big 
 square pew ; and Miss Judith felt like thank- 
 ing the Lord, when, at last, she did sink into 
 her seat, and the door was buttoned tight. 
 
 The choir rendered the last note and sat down 
 delighted with its efforts ; and the minister 
 arose slowly from the hair-cloth sofa back of 
 the high pulpit, and stepped forward to offer 
 prayer. Brother John took, with everybody else,
 
 122 THE PETT1BONE NAME. 
 
 a good look at the stranger, to start suddenly ; 
 and just as Miss Judith's head was going 
 down decorously, he gave her a nudge, saying 
 close to her ear, "Why, that's the fellow you 
 sent after me ! " 
 
 To say that Miss Judith heard the whole of 
 that prayer, would be to state an untruth. 
 Hard as she tried to compose her thoughts, and 
 sternly as she took herself to task for not accom- 
 plishing it, the closing words fell upon a preoccupied 
 mind. At last it was necessary for her to sit 
 up and bring herself to face the keen, search- 
 ing glance directed from the pulpit to the "Pet- 
 tibone pew. " 
 
 But the Reverend Mr. Beebe after that first 
 look seemed to have no other thoughts than 
 those connected with his work, and was soon 
 engrossed in reading the notices, in a deep, 
 strong voice, and with a manner perfectly self- 
 possessed, but free from any unpleasant assur- 
 ance. 
 
 "What must he think of me!" exclaimed 
 Miss Judith to herself over and over. Through- 
 out the sermon, which, though not approaching 
 one of Parson Whittaker's in length, seemed a 
 perfect age in reaching its conclusion, the
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOB DEACON BADGER. 123 
 
 reflections that took possession of her mind in 
 regard to the small niece at home, were any 
 thing but pleasant. 
 
 When at last the sermon was over, she started 
 to get out as quickly as possible, to run home 
 for the intermission till her duties at Sunday- 
 school towards Miss Frisbie's class would require 
 her presence. But " Brother John " was slow. 
 He couldn't find his hat, or he didn't want to, 
 which was all the same, and before the find- 
 ing and the getting out were accomplished, 
 Mrs. Whittaker had pulled one end of Miss 
 Judith's shawl, and also called her name in a 
 clear voice : 
 
 " I want to introduce you to Reverend Mr. 
 Beebe, " she said. And then Miss Judith was 
 shaking hands with the tall man possessing the 
 keen eyes ; and then John turned around and 
 was introduced, and there they were in for a 
 good talk. 
 
 " I've met him before, " said John sociably. 
 " He thought so much of me, he came bright 
 and early yesterday morning to see me. Hee- 
 hee-hee ! " 
 
 "I've heard about that," said Mrs. Whittaker, 
 laughing. "When I got home from your house,
 
 124 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Judith, I was telling about Bobby Jane, and then 
 it all came out. " 
 
 "I'm glad if Mr. Beebe did enjoy it then, " 
 said Miss Judith dryly. 
 
 Not a trace of her inward vexation appeared 
 on her placid face. " They never'll get through 
 laughing if I show it now, " she said, with an 
 extra effort to appear unconcerned. 
 
 The tall minister shot a swift glance into her 
 face that seemed to read her through and through, 
 while a queer little smile tucked itself away 
 under his heavy beard. 
 
 " I do wish he'd turn his eyes away," thought 
 Miss Judith, so thoroughly uncomfortable it was 
 all she could do to keep from showing it ; "I 
 do dislike such sharp folks." 
 
 " And it was all his goodness made him have 
 the pleasure, " said Mrs. Whittaker earnestly, 
 "for " 
 
 " I know it, " exclaimed Miss Judith with sud- 
 den compunction. 
 
 She hadn't even thanked the man. That was 
 worse than all the rest. 
 
 " I suppose it's not too late to tell you what 
 a service it was," she said, turning to the 
 minister from Franklin, with remorse in her
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 125 
 
 face. "But because you did go, Bobby Jane 
 is really well now." 
 
 " I don't mean that, " cried Mrs. Whittaker, 
 before the Reverend Mr. Beebe could say a word ; 
 " but I meant, if he hadn't have been doing 
 a kind act at the time you called him, he wouldn't 
 have been there to be called. Yes, I shall tell, 
 Mr. Beebe; it explains why you were running 
 around the country at that early hour. To make 
 a long story short, he went to save Mr. Whittaker 
 from going I was a little afraid of his throat, 
 you know, in that damp morning air down 
 to Simons. They sent for Mr. Whittaker 
 between three and four o'clock : thought he 
 was dying. He has those turns every once in 
 a little while. It's a fit of the nerves, I think, 
 and Mr. Beebe insisted on running down to 
 find out what was the matter. " 
 
 " Well, he didn't die, I see, " said John 
 Pettibone with a laugh. "He was shoeing horses 
 livelier'n ever when I went past the shop 
 about ten o'clock." 
 
 " Oh, no ; he was enjoying a great plate of 
 ham and fried eggs when I arrived there, " 
 said Mr. Beebe. " He invited me to partake, 
 and remarked that it was pleasant being out
 
 126 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 in the morning air ; he wished he could do it, 
 etc., etc., and then fell to on his ham and 
 eggs again, while I bowed myself out. " 
 
 " Well, you helped Judith, anyway, " said 
 Mrs. Whittaker, after the laugh had subsided. 
 " So the walk was by no means wasted. " 
 
 " It was by no means wasted, " repeated 
 the minister, with another queer look of amuse- 
 ment in her direction, that made Miss Petti- 
 bone think with any thing but love on the 
 capers of her small niece. 
 
 "Well, I suppose you'll take Miss Frisbie's 
 class ? " said Mrs. Whittaker, turning to Miss 
 Judith. 
 
 " I said I would, and I will, " replied Miss 
 Judith quietly. " I must go now, and see how 
 Bobby Jane is getting on. I'll be back in 
 time for Sunday-school. " 
 
 And before any one could raise a protest, 
 she had disappeared out of the old church 
 door. 
 
 All her duties as regarded her class being 
 over, Miss Judith settled herself with more 
 composure to listen to the afternoon discourse. 
 And thus being better prepared to criticise, 
 she soon found herself wondering at, then
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 127 
 
 enjoying, the strong Christian food that was 
 being broken to the congregation. 
 
 " He's got good common sense ; that's one 
 thing," she exclaimed to herself. " He don't 
 run on and beat all around the bush before 
 he gets hold of an idea." 
 
 With an interest that could be felt without 
 putting into words, the people went out of the 
 old church to find their tongues, when a safe 
 distance had been traversed. 
 
 Miss Judith went rapidly along the path 
 that ran crosswise through the Green, leading 
 toward Miss Scarritt's little cottage. 
 
 " I like him," said Mrs. Folinsbee, calling 
 to her as she was attempting to pass; "don't 
 you, Miss Pettibone ? Now Mr. Whittaker 
 preaches all the while as ef his throat was 
 a goin' to break down. It's awful to set an' 
 listen to him. This man stands up an' hollers 
 fust-rate." 
 
 "Mr. Whittaker is one of the best preachers 
 I know," cried Miss Judith in her warmest 
 fashion. " I tell you, Mrs. Folinsbee, if we 
 live up to his preaching, we'll do pretty well." 
 
 " Oh ! I know ; of course, of course," said 
 Mrs. Folinsbee, giving her shawl an extra
 
 128 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 twitch or two. "But there's a difference in 
 preachers, you know yourself*. Miss Pettibone." 
 
 " As there is in people," Miss Judith wanted 
 to say. But she was accustomed to withhold- 
 ing many of her thoughts from expression, so 
 she quietly folded her lips. 
 
 " I must hurry along, Mrs. Folinsbee," she 
 said quickly ; " my little niece is sick, and I 
 am anxious to get back to her." 
 
 " Is she with you ? " called Mrs. Folinsbee, 
 eager for all the news. " What's the matter ? 
 Say, Miss Pettibone, what's the matter?" 
 
 But it is to be supposed that Miss Judith 
 didn't hear, for she speedily put a good dis- 
 tance between the curious matron and herself, 
 and soon disappeared in the door of her little 
 home. 
 
 The next morning Bobby Jane was up and 
 around, as Miss Scarritt had expressed it, " as 
 peart as a cricket ; " and with a huge piece 
 of red flannel tied around her throat, was 
 engaged in playing with a lot of old-fashioned 
 boxes, part of the household treasures brought 
 from the old homestead, and that she was 
 always allowed to take and enjoy at her own 
 sweet will.
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 129 
 
 " I'll send over now for Doctor Pilcher," thought 
 Miss Judith, getting up from her work to run 
 down for one of the neighbor's children who 
 always delighted in an excuse to go to the 
 store with a message for Jonas Hine, the 
 express messenger to Franklin. "Then he'll 
 come over by afternoon, probably, an' that will 
 be about right." 
 
 "Ju-dith," called old Mrs. Scarritt's cracked 
 voice up over the stairs. 
 
 Miss Judith dropped scissors and thimble to 
 run briskly, to save the old lady's throat from 
 another call. 
 
 "Ju " began the old lady. "Oh! here you 
 be. It's Mr. Whittaker." And she waddled 
 back to the kitchen, to see if the beans were 
 burning. 
 
 "Miss Judith," said the minister, "good- 
 morning ! What is this about Deacon Badger 
 and Doctor Pilcher? I understand you know 
 something about the trouble, but I can't quite 
 get at the rights of the story, and I've come 
 to you to be set straight." 
 
 "Mercy!" ejaculated Miss Judith; "are you 
 drawn into it, Mr. Whittaker ? Do you mean 
 to say Doctor Pilcher is quite so foolish as to
 
 130 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 let his temper run away with all his sense ? 
 How did you hear of it ? " Her strong features 
 were filled with the contempt she couldn't 
 keep down at the thought of such a trivial 
 matter becoming general talk. 
 
 "Why, you know I preached over there 
 yesterday," said Mr. Whittaker. " Oh ! by the 
 way, how did you like the new minister 
 they've got ? Did he give you good doctrine ? " 
 
 " Pretty fair," said Miss Judith indifferently. 
 " But I can't stop to discuss sermons this 
 morning, Mr. Whittaker ; I'm interested in 
 poor Deacon Badger. It's a downright shame 
 for him to be so tormented ; such a good 
 man as he is." To save her, she couldn't 
 recover from the vexation that filled her soul 
 at thought of her good old friend. 
 
 " Doctor Pilcher came to see me last night," 
 said Mr. Whittaker soberly, "and he was very 
 angry." 
 
 " How much trouble that man makes ! " ex- 
 claimed Miss Judith, more strongly than she 
 usually allowed herself to speak ; " to fasten to 
 our good, patient Deacon Badger with what 
 anybody with half an eye might know he 
 never said."
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 131 
 
 " Well, when a man is angry and all tired 
 out with his work and discouraged at great 
 obstacles, he can't see with half an eye, Miss 
 Judith," said the minister. " At any rate, he 
 doesn't. And that's just the state with Doctor 
 Pilcher. He's got too much on his hands, 
 being the only physician for three villages, 
 besides doing a vast amount of work outside. 
 And he's overworked every twenty-four hours 
 of his life, night as well as day ; and when 
 his temper bursts bounds it's his great fail- 
 ing, you know why, we ought to be very 
 sorry for him, and try to help him shut it in again." 
 
 " I know," said Miss Judith remorsefully, 
 with a great effort compelling other irritating 
 thoughts into submission ; " and he certainly 
 thought he had great provocation, only he 
 might have known Well, do tell me what 
 he said?" she asked quickly. 
 
 " Why he told me as distinctly as he could for 
 his anger, that your little niece Bobby Jane 
 whom he attended here Saturday, said that 
 Deacon Badger said that he killed some one ; 
 and that the child screamed and cried and 
 took on dreadfully ; as if she had been terribly 
 prejudiced in some way."
 
 132 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "So she did," exclaimed Miss Judith. "And 
 here's the whole of it." 
 
 Then she proceeded to lay before her minister 
 the story from beginning to end, and its solution. 
 
 " Deacon Badger is going over to see him 
 again to-day, I expect," said Miss Judith, at 
 the conclusion. 
 
 "Oh! he mustn't," cried Mr. Whittaker, 
 starting up quickly, "it wouldn't be the smallest 
 use in the world. In fact, it would do a great 
 deal more harm than good. Doctor Pilcher is in 
 such a temper that the explanation had much 
 better be given by some other person." 
 
 " Well, I was just going to send for him to 
 see Bobby Jane," said Miss Judith. " If he 
 heard her himself it would be the best kind of 
 explanation." 
 
 " Better not ; better not," said Mr. Whitta- 
 ker, with a wise shake of his head. 
 
 " Well, how would you make the explanation 
 then ? " exclaimed Miss Judith in astonishment. 
 " Something must be done ! And it won't 
 ever do to let the grass grow under our feet 
 in the doing of it, either. A spunky fit like 
 the one Doctor Pilcher's in ought to be treated 
 pretty soon."
 
 WORSE AND WOESE FOR DEACON BADGER. 133 
 
 " If he were in my parish now," said Mr. 
 Whittaker thoughtfully, standing hat in hand, 
 "why, that would be different. Miss Judith, his 
 own minister is the one to undertake it. If 
 you'll be willing to tell Mr. Beebe the whole 
 story, I can give you my word, this awkward 
 thing will be adjusted straight for all parties. 
 He's going right back to Franklin this after- 
 noon, you know." 
 
 Miss Judith hesitated for one moment ; but 
 Deacon Badger's face coming up before her, 
 she said : 
 
 " I will. You can bring him as soon as you 
 like, for something must be done," she repeated. 
 
 " Right away," replied Mr. Whittaker, with 
 a business air, receiving the ungracious per- 
 mission as calmly as if the most delightful 
 welcome had been extended. 
 
 " We'll be here in just ten minutes, Miss 
 Judith." 
 
 " Mrs. Scarritt," said Miss Judith, marching 
 out into the kitchen, " I want the privilege 
 of putting more wood in the keeping-room stove. 
 I must bring Bobby Jane down, and I'm afraid 
 she'll take cold."
 
 134 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " Do jest as you like, Judith," said the old 
 lady; "jest as you like about every thin'; I'm 
 sure I don't keer." 
 
 " Where we goin' ? " asked Bobby Jane, 
 poking her stubby head out of the nest of 
 shawls with which she was enshrouded, as 
 her aunt carried her down the stairs. 
 
 " Down-stairs," replied Miss Judith curtly. 
 " Keep your head in, Bobby Jane, under that 
 shawl, or dear knows when you'll get well 
 enough to go home." 
 
 " It's fine down here," croaked Bobby Jane 
 when laid on the big old calico-covered sofa in 
 the keeping-room ; " a great deal nicer'n 'tis 
 up in your room, aunt Judy." 
 
 "Keep that shawl around you," said Miss Judith 
 decidedly, with no taste for further conversa- 
 tion ; " now don't you fling it back under any 
 consideration, Bobby Jane." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't want to keep on that old 
 shawl," whined Bobby Jane, giving a twist all 
 over the sofa, and screwing up her face. "It's 
 most awful, dreadful hot, aunt Judy. Why, 
 here come two big men ! " she exclaimed, 
 stopping the whine suddenly, and forgetting 
 shawl and every thing else discomforting, to
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 135 
 
 sit bolt upright and stare out of the little 
 window. " An' they're coming right straight 
 in here. Oh, my ! " 
 
 "Good-morning!" said the tall minister from 
 Franklin, appearing in Mr. Whittaker's wake ; 
 and putting out his hand cordially, he waited 
 for Miss Judith's firm one to be extended. 
 " Why, here is your little niece ! " 
 
 "Yes," croaked Bobby Jane from her sofa 
 out of her nest of shawls ; " but I've only 
 just come down, an' aunt Judy's dreadful cross; 
 she is ! " 
 
 " You've been very sick, haven't you ? " said 
 the minister kindly, and sitting down by the 
 small figure. 
 
 Bobby Jane put her hand to the huge bundle 
 of red flannel at her throat. "Not much," she 
 said with a wheeze. " Aunt Judy gave me nice 
 things to eat. I liked it only I never saw 
 her cut out things. When are you goin' to, 
 aunt Judy ? " she asked suddenly, as if struck 
 with the idea for the first time. " Say, when 
 are you going to cut out jackets ? Say ? " 
 
 "You had a doctor, didn't you, Bobby Jane?" 
 asked Miss Judith, ignoring the question. 
 At this Bobby Jane's expression changed
 
 136 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 suddenly. With a bound she sprang from the 
 old sofa, and, catching her foot in the long 
 end of the shawl, fell at Miss Judith's feet in 
 a perfect paroxysm of distress. 
 
 "Don't, dorit let him come again!" she 
 wheezed and croaked. " Oh, don't ! He killed 
 that poor little boy." 
 
 Aunt Judith exchanged a quick glance with 
 both of the gentlemen, motioning Mr. Beebe 
 away, who had started to lift the child up. 
 
 " There, there, Bobby Jane," she said sooth- 
 ingly, drawing her upon her lap and speaking in 
 reassuring tones ; " nothing shall hurt you ; don't 
 be afraid. There, there, child." 
 
 " He stuffs folks," cried the child, wriggling 
 to get within the shelter of Miss Judith's arms 
 as far as possible. " That man said so ; he did. 
 Oh, dear, dear ! " 
 
 "When you were coming over to see me, you 
 mean ? " asked Miss Judith in clear, distinct tones, 
 smoothing the little stubby head with gentle 
 hand. 
 
 " Yes ; " wheezed Bobby Jane with dreadful 
 wriggles at the recollection. " Don't let him 
 stuff me, aunt Judy ; oh, don't ! " 
 
 She gave a shudder and grasped Miss Judith
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 137 
 
 violently around the neck, to the ruin of her 
 clean collar. 
 
 " And you got over the fence when you heard 
 them coming along the road, didn't you ? " asked 
 Miss Judith in a matter-of-fact voice, as if she 
 had been told a dozen times or so. 
 
 " No," said Bobby Jane sitting up straight 
 with a bounce in the comfortable lap, " I tumbled ; 
 and 'twas an old stone wall ; twasn't a fence 
 at all. I was so afraid, aunt Judy." 
 
 "Afraid they would send you home, you 
 mean ? " asked Miss Judith, stroking the stubby 
 head, and gazing into the big black eyes fixedly. 
 
 "Yis," said Bobby Jane, beginning to cough. 
 
 " And Deacon Badger was there, going on along 
 the road while you hid in the bushes, wasn't he ? " 
 pursued Miss Judith, not letting the black eyes 
 wander in the least. 
 
 " Yis," said Bobby Jane, nodding her head 
 decidedly ; " an' the other man said, ' He kills 
 'em, Deacon Badger;' yes he did, aunt Judy." 
 
 " Why, you said that Deacon Badger said 
 that Doctor Pilcher killed some one," said Miss 
 Judith, still holding the eyes by her own clear 
 gaze. 
 
 " No, I didn't ! " cried Bobby Jane, contra-
 
 138 THE PETTI BONE NAME. 
 
 dieting stoutly and shaking her head. "'Twas 
 the other man, aunt Judy. Deacon Badger 
 said ' Oh, I guess not ! ' he did. I heard him 
 myself ! " 
 
 She ended up by as much of a scream as 
 she could compass, which precipitated her into 
 such a hard fit of coughing that Miss Judith 
 hastened to cut short the interview as summa- 
 rily as possible. 
 
 "Did you see the other man, Bobby Jane?" 
 she asked quickly, when the child had regained 
 her breath enough to converse. " Tell aunt 
 Judy how he looked." 
 
 "Dre-adful big," said Bobby Jane, trying to 
 raise her shawl-encumbered hands to describe 
 the extreme height her imagination could invent. 
 " Oh dear ! I can't tell with this on, aunt 
 Judy. Do take it off," she whimpered, pulling 
 at her wraps impatiently. 
 
 " I know, child, the shawl is heavy, but you 
 mustn't undo it ; you'll catch your death of 
 cold. He was very tall, was he ? And how did 
 he look ? Could you see his face plainly ? " 
 Aunt Judith uttered these questions rapidly 
 and distinctly, still holding the restless eyes 
 with a steady gaze.
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 139 
 
 " Yis," said Bobby Jane, beginning to look 
 very indignant at the remembrance ; " an' he 
 most stomped my head off, aunt Judy; he did, 
 when he jumped over the wall. And then he 
 went clear away off down so." She thrust out 
 one arm as far as she could, to point diago- 
 nally to the further corner of the room, thereby 
 describing Mr. Titus' s method of crossing the 
 field. " Oh dear ! I want to get down ; I 
 do!" 
 
 "But how did he look?" repeated aunt Ju- 
 dith, holding her firmly. 
 
 " Oh, I donno," said Bobby Jane, with a 
 dreadful wheeze, and stretching her legs under 
 the old shawl. " Do lemme go, aunt Judy ; 
 I'm so tired ! " 
 
 " In just one moment," said aunt Judith 
 decidedly ; " when you have told me, and not 
 before." 
 
 Bobby Jane took one long breath, then as 
 she saw no signs of relenting in the quiet 
 face above her, she began to rattle off as fast 
 as possible every thing she knew or ever thought 
 of knowing. "He had an awful great 
 whiskers clear way down an' an' old 
 cap an' ner a box in his hand
 
 140 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 an' an' that's all. Now may I go, aunt 
 Judy ? " she brought up in despair. 
 
 " That's Titus," said Miss Judith, over the 
 little stubby head to the gentlemen, as she slid 
 the big shawl and its contents to the floor. 
 "I don't think the child's ever seen him before 
 in her life. The box of tools alone would de- 
 cide it." 
 
 " Won't you come and see me, little girl ? " 
 said the minister from Franklin, holding out 
 his hand with a smile. 
 
 Bobby Jane looked sharply at him for just 
 a moment, then stumbled over to the sofa. 
 
 "I like little girls," he said pleasantly, "and 
 some one else does too. Can you guess who ? " 
 
 "No," wheezed the child, hanging on his 
 words. 
 
 " Your dear, good Doctor Pilcher," said the 
 kind voice, while the keen eyes beamed on her. 
 
 " He isn't my dear, good Doctor Pilcher ! " 
 she cried indignantly, beginning to edge off 
 from her would-be kind friend, while her face 
 looked frightened at once. 
 
 " Bobby Jane ! " The minister took one of 
 the fat little hands in his broad palm. "Who 
 cured you so that you can soon go home to
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 141 
 
 play with your little brothers and sisters ? " 
 
 " But I don't want to go home ? " croaked 
 Bobby Jane in intense alarm. " I'm goin' to 
 stay forever'n ever with my aunt Judy ; I 
 am ! " 
 
 "Very well," said Mr. Beebe quietly. "But 
 you can't be any comfort to your aunt if you're 
 sick always." 
 
 There was a moment of dreadful silence, in 
 which Bobby Jane veered completely around. 
 
 " I don't want to stay in bed," she said 
 slowly ; " I'd rather take med'cine, an' have 
 Doctor Pilcher. 
 
 "That's right," said the minister approvingly, 
 and smiling at her. 
 
 " Have you got any little girls to your 
 house?" she croaked, suddenly changing the 
 subject. 
 
 " No," said the minister ; " I haven't any 
 home to put them in, Bobby Jane. 
 
 " I'll come an' see you sometime," wheezed 
 the child, with her sweetest smile, that, seen 
 above her billows of red flannel, was striking, 
 to say the least; "me an' aunt Judy." 
 
 " I want to congratulate you, Miss Petti- 
 bone," said Mr. Beebe, turning to her, " that
 
 142 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 this troublesome misunderstanding is all unrav- 
 elled. Now your mind can be set entirely at 
 rest about your good Deacon, which must be 
 such a comfort." 
 
 "You don't know any thing what a comfort 
 it is," exclaimed Miss Judith cheerily. " And 
 what a lesson it's taught me to be careful of 
 my tongue. Dear me ! To think how stories 
 grow out of nothing ! " 
 
 " ' How great a matter,' " said Reverend Mr. 
 Beebe smiling, "has been repeated often enough 
 to stay some of the mischief. The trouble of 
 it is it stops just there at the repetition, and 
 the wagging of tongues goes on uninterrupted." 
 
 " If you are going to Franklin this after- 
 noon, Hiram," observed Mr. Whittaker com- 
 posedly " sorry to break in but you will have 
 to move pretty quickly, that's all ; for I think 
 there's a storm brewing." 
 
 " Which means good-afternoon, and the wag- 
 ging of my tongue stopped," said Reverend Mr. 
 Beebe, getting up from the sofa with a laugh. 
 
 "Ain't you coming any more?" asked Bobby 
 Jane, squeezing in between the visitors anx- 
 iously. " Uh-tchee ! uh-tchee ! Do come some 
 more ! "
 
 WORSE AND WORSE FOR DEACON BADGER. 143 
 
 " I will," said Mr. Beebe with a bright smile 
 on the old shawl and its contents ; " and when- 
 ever I come to Barkhamsted, I'll be sure to 
 see you, Bobby Jane, if it r s a possible thing."
 
 144 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 AUNT JUDITH'S WORK WIDENS. 
 
 THAT evening little Miss Scarritt ran up- 
 stairs with her work-basket. 
 
 " Now that child is asleep, an' you hain't 
 got none of the rest of 'em a trapesin' round 
 an' upsettin' your things till you don't know 
 which end your head's on, I'm a goin' to set 
 with you one evenin'. Judith Pettibone, I 
 sh'd think you'd be crazy ! " 
 
 " Oh, I can stand it for one evening," said 
 Miss Judith dryly. 
 
 "H'm! h'm!" returned the little dressmaker 
 in her grimmest way, while her small eyes 
 gleamed at the appreciation of the joke; "you 
 did git the best of me there, I'll allow. 
 Well, jokin' aside, I'd like to know what time 
 you ever have to yourself ! There's Tom in 
 an' out most every minute, an' evenin's are 
 as good as spoilt ; you never can tell when
 
 AUNT JUDITH'S WORK WIDENS. 145 
 
 he'll bring a lot o' books an' set an' set till 
 nine o'clock. Why, those children are hangin' 
 round you twice as much as if you lived with 
 'em ! " 
 
 "That's what I expected," said Miss Judith 
 quietly. 
 
 " Well, you'll age all of a suddint," said the 
 little dressmaker, setting her basket with a clap 
 on the table, and diving for the scissors. " A 
 woman always does who's had so much care as 
 you have. It's time for you now to take a 
 little ease an' rest your bones if you're ever 
 goin' to." 
 
 Miss Judith only smiled at her, knowing that 
 until her friend had freed her mind, remonstrances 
 were useless. 
 
 " Let Tom git his own lessons," said Miss 
 Scarritt, stabbing her little cushion to see if the 
 point of her needle was in good order. " That 
 would save you a sight." 
 
 " Oh, I don't help him much," said Miss Judith 
 honestly ; " I can't, if I wanted to. Education 
 was a different thing, you know, in yours and 
 my day,. Samantha." 
 
 " Well, if you can't tell him how every thin* 
 is done under the canopy, and all the ologies an'
 
 146 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 isms a goin'," retorted Miss Scarritt, " you set 
 him a thinkin' on things, an' that's better yit. 
 Oh, I know, 'cause he's told me all about it ; 
 so ! Well, if he let you alone a minute that 
 would be somethin'." 
 
 " You've forgotten Miriam," said Miss Judith 
 laughing. " She comes first by right." 
 
 " Oh, Miriam's well enough," said Miss Scarritt, 
 tying a knot in her thread ; " she has some con- 
 science about it. I don't complain of her." 
 
 " Well, then, you'll be pleased to think she 
 is coming here to stay with me for a spell," said 
 Miss Judith, having all she could do to refrain 
 from laughing outright at the expression of her 
 friend's face. 
 
 " Right straight along ? " asked Miss Scarritt, 
 leaving her work poised in mid-air. 
 
 " Yes, for a spell," repeated Miss Judith 
 brightly, "as soon as Bobby Jane gets home. 
 She wants to come, and her father and mother 
 think it will be good for her to have a change. 
 She is so self-sacrificing among those children, 
 that there's a little danger she may miss some 
 of her youth ; and so she's coming to her old 
 aunty for a while." 
 
 Miss Scarritt lowered her work into her lap
 
 AUNT JUDITITS WORK WIDENS. 147 
 
 and set three or four stitches silently ; then she 
 opened her pursed-up mouth. " What a dretful 
 care," she sighed, veering around immediately, 
 "to take a sixteen-year-old girl. Mercy! here 
 comes that Tom." 
 
 The sound of a boy tumbling up the stairs, 
 two at a time, made the little dressmaker 
 jam all her work hastily into her basket and 
 beat an unceremonious retreat. 
 
 "That's good," said Tom approvingly and look- 
 ing around the room. " Now she's gone, here's 
 for a fine time ! " 
 
 "You didn't bring your books," said Miss 
 Judith wonderingly. " What's the matter, Tom ? " 
 
 For reason, the boy kept his eyes on the glow- 
 ing brands in the big open stove. 
 
 Miss Judith didn't press the question, but went 
 on with her work, snipping and trimming. 
 
 "Aunt Judith," said the boy at last, turning 
 away from the firelight to fix his dark eyes on 
 her face, " I'm fifteen years old." 
 
 "I know it, Tom," she said with a smile ; "on 
 the twenty-first of last March." 
 
 " Oughtn't I to be learning very fast ? " he said, 
 speaking with repressed eagerness. " It won't 
 be long now before I shall be a man."
 
 148 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Miss Judith put her work aside with steady 
 hand. Her time had come. 
 
 "Tom," she said. There was a ring in her 
 voice that the boy raised his head to hear. " I 
 have waited for you, my boy, to speak on this 
 subject first. It has long been on my mind, 
 but, until you found it out for yourself, my mouth 
 had to be shut. Could you bear to go away to 
 school ? " 
 
 The boy closed one hand tightly over the 
 other. 
 
 " To be a man, aunt Judith, I must go away 
 some time or other, I suppose." 
 
 " I suppose you must," said aunt Judith quietly. 
 
 " And I do mean to be a man," said Tom, 
 in a moment or two. " Oh, aunt Judith, I really 
 and truly do ! " 
 
 " You must be ! " said aunt Judith with deep 
 feeling. " Tom, your grandfather and grandmother 
 hoped great things from you, the oldest boy. 
 You mustn't disappoint them, for they're watch- 
 ing you from Heaven. And as you go in your 
 course the rest of the children will be pretty 
 sure to follow. See that you lead them only 
 where a Pettibone should go." 
 
 Her eyes glowed with such intense feeling,
 
 AUNT JUDITH' S WORK WIDENS. 149 
 
 that, for his life, in watching her, the boy could 
 not analyze the emotions that now rushed over 
 him. He only knew that it seemed to him as 
 if the souls of those gone before spoke of noble- 
 ness of aim and singleness of purpose as the 
 one leading that the Master gives up to the 
 perfect light. 
 
 " And so you must go to school," said 
 aunt Judith decisively, after a pause, "and learn 
 something, so that you can do good work in 
 the world, Tom. That's settled. Mr. Whittaker 
 thinks so himself; that he's taught you all that 
 it is best for you to try to learn from him." 
 
 " Did he say so ? " asked the boy, flashing a 
 keen look on her. 
 
 " Yes," said aunt Judith, " he did. And as 
 soon as you came to that conclusion yourself, 
 I was to tell you what he said. Now, then " 
 
 "Will father let me go?" asked Tom incredu- 
 lously, but ready to believe any thing if aunt 
 Judith said so. 
 
 " Not only let you, my boy," cried aunt Judith, 
 no longer able to control herself, " but bid you 
 a God-speed, to add to your mother's blessing. 
 O, Tom, Tom ! " Miss Judith rose from her 
 chair, and began to pace rapidly up and down
 
 150 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 the room, to conceal the working of her face 
 and gain time to summon a steady voice. 
 
 The boy followed every movement with a 
 keen glance. Although many and long had been 
 the talks with aunt Judith ever since he was 
 a little fellow, he had never seen her so strangely 
 moved, nor felt the yearning tenderness of her 
 nature that he should come up to all that was 
 high and noble so strongly as he did this 
 night. 
 
 "Don't you see, my boy," she said at last, 
 pausing before him with every feature aglow, 
 "that you have more following you with love 
 and blessing, and looking forward to the comfort 
 and the pride that you will be in all future 
 years, than it often falls to the lot of a boy to 
 possess? See that you don't disappoint them!" 
 
 " I never will, aunt Judith," said the boy 
 slowly. 
 
 " I know it," she cried with shining eyes. 
 " Now, then, just give me your attention. I 
 want you to promise me two things. Here is 
 one : that you will hold tight to the Bible under 
 all circumstances. Take it as it says, Tom, with- 
 out any arguing over this thing and that, and 
 twisting of texts. Just stick as close to those
 
 AUNT JUDITH'S WOBK WIDENS. 151 
 
 commands and promises as you can for your 
 life. Promise me that ! " 
 
 " I will, aunt Judith," he said with grave face, 
 looking up straight into her eyes. 
 
 " Now the other : That you will, every night 
 and morning, wherever you may be, even if folks 
 see you, and maybe laugh boys will ridicule, 
 Tom, and mock, when they haven't the sense to 
 see and care for the right that you will get 
 down upon your knees and say your prayers as 
 a Christian should. Promise that too ! " 
 
 Tom hesitated, a flush coming over his brown 
 face. 
 
 "Can't I say 'em sometimes in bed, auntie? 
 I'd pray just the same." 
 
 " In bed ! " repeated Miss Judith scornfully. 
 " I wouldn't give much for the religion that has 
 to skulk into a dark hole and pull the coverlids 
 over it. Pretty soon it's sure to get smothered 
 so that there are no prayers. No ; if I prayed, 
 I'd pray like a man ! " 
 
 In all his after life Tom never forgot her 
 look, nor how little and mean he felt as he 
 stood there before her. 
 
 " I will, aunty ! " he cried, his whole soul 
 in his face. " Oh, I will ! I didn't really mean
 
 152 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 to be ashamed of praying ; honestly, I didn't." 
 
 "I know you didn't, Tom," said aunt Judith, 
 her face softening. And she took his hand 
 gently. " I know how you have tried to live 
 rightly, and do your whole duty ; but there's 
 just the danger, and I want to warn you of it. 
 It's a vastly different thing to live as you ought 
 to in this quiet place, with every one to help 
 you along, from trying it in a big city, thrown 
 in amongst a lot of boys, come from a hundred 
 different homes. Then yon'll need those two 
 promises terribly." 
 
 "And I'll keep them," said Tom, "with God's 
 help." 
 
 Two days later Bobby Jane, amidst many 
 wails and piteous pleadings to stay, was borne 
 off to the big house on the hill, where, in 
 less than an hour, everybody wished her back 
 at the " widow Scarritt's " a thousand times. 
 
 She had scarcely left "aunt Judy's" door, 
 when little Doctor Pilcher drove up, and pre- 
 cipitating himself from his gig, rushed up to 
 the house. 
 
 " Miss Pettibone," he said, in his most 
 abrupt manner as she met him in the hall, 
 " I haven't but a moment, but I drove around
 
 AUNT JUDITH'S WOEK WIDENS. 153 
 
 this way on purpose to see you." He peered 
 up into her face sharply, bestowing a long, 
 keen scrutiny. " That man that our Church 
 has settled " (although the little Doctor rarely 
 set foot in the sanctuary and cared not a whit 
 for prayer-meetings and such gatherings, with 
 pomposity of speech and manner he would 
 always mention them as "our," thereby laying 
 himself open to the criticisms of all other 
 disbelievers ; for which he cared no more than 
 a scraggy little pine tree would for the per- 
 ambulations of a fly along its weather-beaten 
 trunk) "well, he says that your little niece 
 made up all that story out of her head from 
 something that miserable Titus has said. That 
 may be so ; but I'd rather you gave me your 
 word of honor about it, for although Mr. what's- 
 his-name Beebe seems a good enough sort of 
 fellow being a minister isn't every thing, by a 
 long shot, and a body's got to summer and 
 winter them as well as other folks." 
 
 Miss Judith's face fairly beamed at the 
 thought of the happiness to come to the good 
 Deacon. She had just opened her mouth to 
 reply, when a small rustling was heard back 
 of her, and a deprecating voice struck in :
 
 154 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "Excuse me," said the widow Scarritt humbly, 
 "but Deacon Badger's out in the kitchen. He 
 didn't know Bobby Jane had gone home, an' 
 he brung her over some sweetin's to bake, an' 
 Mis. Badger's sent her a glass o' jell." Then 
 she turned her trembling cap-border over 
 toward the Doctor. "Ain't you goin' to make 
 up with him ? " she pleaded. " Remember, he's 
 one of the Lord's apinted, an' they should be 
 let to say more than other folks." 
 
 "But, Mrs. Scarritt," said Miss Judith hastily, 
 fot the first time in her life wishing the little 
 widow miles away, "Deacon Badger didn't say 
 at all any thing of this story. It was wholly 
 Bobby Jane's mistake." 
 
 " I know it," said the little widow, cheer- 
 fully, whose evil genius had tempted her from 
 her quiet kitchen ; and she was preparing to 
 state her complete belief in the Deacon, root 
 and branch, when Doctor Pilcher, whose face 
 had undergone a change with the rapidity of 
 lightning, broke in : 
 
 " I'm not so sure of that," he roared ; " I'll 
 see for myself." 
 
 The little widow took one- look at his face, 
 then turned to trot down the hall into her
 
 AUNT JUDITH'S WORK WIDENS. 155 
 
 refuge. Doctor Pilcher started to follow with 
 an angry, determined tread, ejaculating at each 
 step : 
 
 " I see through all this ! I see through it 
 all ! " 
 
 "Doctor Pilcher," implored Miss Pettibone, 
 stopping him for one instant, " I'll answer your 
 question. It will satisfy " 
 
 "I won't trouble you! I won't trouble you!" 
 cried the little man, almost beside himself with 
 passion, waving her off. " Perhaps you don't 
 think that I see through all this, but I do ; 
 oh yes, I do ! " 
 
 Thereupon he stalked on, overtaking, the 
 widow Scarritt's retreating footsteps. 
 
 That lady, being unaccustomed in the even 
 tenor of her daily life to pursuit of any kind, 
 now startled by the angry tread and gusty 
 exclamations behind her, did just the worst 
 thing possible for all parties. 
 
 She turned into the kitchen at the top 
 of her speed, and, all out of breath, cried 
 nervously : 
 
 "Oh dear! Don't quarrel in my house!" 
 
 The Deacon started to his feet, and stared 
 blankly at her and his angry foe. That he,
 
 156 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Deacon Philemon Badger, a pattern of propriety 
 not only in the Church, but to young and old 
 alike throughout the town, should be accused of 
 quarreling, was the last thing on earth that could 
 be borne with equanimity. At the mere thought 
 of it and of what Doctor Pilcher must have said to 
 produce such an impression in the widow's mind, 
 his righteous indignation, coupled with his nervous 
 fatigue and worry over the whole thing, so far 
 overcame him that the usually placid expression 
 of his countenance immediately changed to unmis- 
 takable anger. 
 
 " Quarreling ! " he exclaimed in a thin, sharp 
 little voice so unlike his own cheery tones, that 
 the widow put her hand to her head in sheer 
 perplexity. " I'd have you know, Mis. Scarritt, 
 that I never stoop to that." 
 
 " Oh, of course not ; of course not ! " cried little 
 Doctor Pilcher in most exasperating sarcasm, and 
 confronting him angrily. " But then, you know, 
 you can help others on, who don't make any pre- 
 tensions. That is more appropriate for a deacon." 
 He turned an insufferable smile of calm derision 
 up into the Deacon's face. 
 
 That was too much, when about the best- 
 known of all his characteristics were those belong-
 
 AUNT JUDITH* S WORK WIDENS. 157 
 
 ing to the office of peace-maker and promoter of 
 brotherly love and unity ! The Deacon essayed to 
 speak, but no words came. 
 
 " And then to take refuge behind a lot of other 
 folks, especially a child ! " exclaimed Doctor Pilcher 
 in withering scorn, "with a trumped-up story and " 
 
 " Hold ! " 
 
 The Deacon's voice was so dreadful now, from 
 the very fact of its being not his own, although 
 issuing from his lips, that the pugnacity of the 
 little Doctor was forced, by his absolute amazement, 
 to give place to a blank stare up into the counte- 
 nance above him. 
 
 It was something indescribable to see the 
 Deacon enraged. His very spectacles bristled 
 with indignation ; and, as through his violent con- 
 tortions of countenance they were continually 
 slipping down his nose, to be pushed back into 
 position by his impatient hand, the effect was 
 ludicrous in the extreme. Nor was he able in the 
 least to stop the flood of his indignation. Accus- 
 tomed for years to control himself with the most 
 rigid discipline ; to mortify and hold under all 
 longings to retaliate, when the gates were 
 opened, the good Deacon found himself at the 
 mercy of the pent-up power within.
 
 158 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 It was a positive delight to him for the first few 
 moments, this new and exhilarating sensation of 
 saying just what he pleased. And he exercised it 
 as a man would who suddenly comes into posses- 
 sion of an hitherto unused power. He gave the 
 astonished Doctor Pilcher in those few moments 
 every atom of his belief in regard to the unhappy 
 state of feeling then existing, together with sev- 
 eral other beliefs having nothing to do with the 
 question at all, adding a variety of thoughts and 
 opinions nowise flattering to the little physician. 
 Then suddenly stopped. 
 
 " Oh ! what have I said ? What have I said ? " 
 he cried in a flash of remorse. And sinking into 
 a chair, he covered his face with his hands. 
 
 " I should think you better ask," said Doctor 
 Pilcher exultantly, as he realized the power now in 
 his hands. " If it wasn't for your name of deacon, 
 you'd be a blackguard. As it is, you're a hypo- 
 crite, if that's any satisfaction for you to know." 
 With that, he flung himself triumphantly out of 
 the room, and fairly tore down the small path to 
 the gate. 
 
 The widow Scarritt was engaged in the active 
 and harmless occupation of wringing her hands, 
 when Miss Pettibone came swiftly across the
 
 AUNT JUDITHS WORK WIDENS. 159 
 
 keeping-room, and put her hand on the bent shoul- 
 der of Deacon Badger. 
 
 "Oh, don't!" he begged, shrinking from the 
 kind touch and any hint of comfort it might 
 bring. " Don't speak to me ! I've been false to 
 my profession, an' dishonored the cause." 
 
 " Deacon Badger," said Miss Judith firmly, and 
 removing the hand to stroke gently his bent 
 head, "a cause is never dishonored by true re- 
 pentance." 
 
 " There ain't any forgiveness for me," he 
 groaned, his head sinking yet lower between his 
 hands. "I've sinned without reason; without 
 reason." 
 
 "How could you say it!" cried widow Scar- 
 ritt, stopping the wringing long enough to launch 
 these reproachful words. " Oh dear, dear, dear," 
 how could you ! Now he never'll be a professor 
 in all this world ! " 
 
 Miss Judith shot her a quick, imperative 
 glance ; but the hand-exercise occupying all her 
 attention, the glance was lost utterly. 
 
 " I know it," exclaimed Deacon Badger in 
 muffled tones, whose remorseful accent pierced 
 Miss Pettibone's heart through and through, 
 "an" I'm the means of it!"
 
 160 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " Deacon Badger," said Miss Judith, beginning 
 again. Then she broke off, and, the memory 
 of the good life so nearly completing its course 
 rushing over her to bring other memories of 
 what he had been to her father, she cried ten- 
 derly, "Oh, don't distrust God so! He wants to 
 comfort you." 
 
 The bent head lifted a trifle, and the trem- 
 bling hands went slowly down. 
 
 "I know it." Deacon Badger uttered the 
 words in changed tone. " Judith, you are a good 
 girl," he added brokenly. " God bless you ! " 
 
 Then he got up from his chair, reached his 
 hat, and went quietly out. 
 
 "Well, I never!" ejaculated widow Scarritt, 
 simultaneously with the closing of the door, and 
 dropping the poor tired hands in her lap. " Should 
 you thought he could a done it, Judith ? I never 
 was so struck of a heap to hear him go on. 
 An' he a deacon ! Shotdd you thought he 
 could?" 
 
 "Mrs. Scarritt," said Miss Judith, as the litcle 
 widow seemed to require a reply, " we are all 
 of us liable to failure in the same way." 
 
 " No, I don't think I be," said the old lady ; 
 " I never was no gret with my tongue. Well,
 
 AUNT JUDITHS WOEK WIDENS. 161 
 
 well, I never was so struck of a heap," she 
 repeated. 
 
 " Did Deacon Badger know that Doctor Pilcher 
 was here ? " asked Miss Judith suddenly, with 
 a keen glance. 
 
 " No," said the old lady, beginning to amble 
 toward the kitchen; "he didn't know the fust 
 thing about it. But I see he couldn't set many 
 minnits, an' so I up an' flew for you. Dear me ! 
 I wish S'manthy was home. Where you goin', 
 Judith?" she asked, pausing. 
 
 " I must run up to brother John's," said Miss 
 Judith briefly. 
 
 "Well, do wait an' git a cup o' tea," said 
 widow Scarritt, trotting off with the greatest brisk- 
 ness for the tea-pot. " I'm a goin' to have one. 
 Mercy ! My nerves is so shook that I donno's 
 I'll ever git 'em straight. To think of him 
 a talkin' so, an' he a deacon ! " 
 
 " I can't stay," said Miss Judith quickly, and 
 proceeding to the door. " I promised them I'd 
 be up there just as soon as I possibly could. 
 You know Tom goes in a few days, and there's 
 nearly everything to do." 
 
 "You'll kill yourself over them children," said 
 the old lady decidedly. "Well, well, I donno,"
 
 162 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 she added, drawing a long, nervous sigh, while 
 Miss Pettibone rapidly mounted the little crooked 
 stairs. "I donno about any thin', I've been so 
 struck of a heap. It beats all how he went on, 
 an' he a deacon too!"
 
 TOM GOES TO SCHOOL. 163 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TOM GOES TO SCHOOL WIDOW SCARRITT DEMANDS 
 
 ATTENTION. 
 
 THE old homestead on the hill was now in 
 a dreadful bustle such as often comes into 
 a house when the oldest boy is going away to 
 school. A going away that is the first break 
 in the quiet family life that never again re- 
 sumes the old uninterrupted flow. And through 
 the village like wildfire the news ran, arousing 
 a variety of comments over this new excitement 
 set going " up at the Pettibones'." 
 
 " They won't have a cent in five years if they 
 go on like this." " It's enough to make Ira 
 Pettibone rise from his grave," and so forth 
 and so on. 
 
 And Tom went, with a hearty God-speed from 
 one and all, into his new life. 
 
 " Don't look at the pretty girls too much, 
 Tom," said his father with a laugh, to conceal
 
 164 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 deeper feeling. "Some one will run away with 
 your heart before you've been there two hours ; 
 see if she doesn't." 
 
 "No, sir, she won't either ! " cried Tom stoutly. 
 " We've got a great deal prettier girls in Bark- 
 ham sted than any other place in the world ; I 
 know we have. Lucy Badger's worth a dozen. 
 All the boys say so." 
 
 " Hum ! hum ! 'well, you'll do," said his father 
 after a moment's scrutiny ; " I guess you'll come 
 home all right, Tom." 
 
 That morning, the morning of Tom's depart- 
 ure, when the tears of the children had been 
 wiped up and their little hearts comforted ; when 
 the father had at last settled himself to steady 
 work, trying to forget his boy ; when the little 
 mother and Miriam had resumed their usual 
 routine of engrossing household labor, Miss 
 Judith tied on her bonnet and went down the 
 hill to Deacon Badger's. 
 
 She had snatched the time out of the past 
 busy days as often as possible for a few hurried 
 words to the kind old heart that now she longed 
 more than anything else in the world to comfort. 
 She had tried, by every means in her powery
 
 TOM GOES TO SCHOOL. 166 
 
 to bring about the reconciliation that now seemed 
 almost hopeless. But all in vain. The Deacon 
 was willing to do any thing to make humble 
 public confession of, and atonement for, his 
 hasty words but the angry Doctor would not 
 see him. 
 
 " It's of no use, Judith," now said Deacon 
 Badger at the end of her visit; "I've driven 
 over there till Pilgrim's all worn out, an' 
 that housekeeper of his just slams the door in 
 my face an' says the Doctor ain't at home. 
 I saw him once, after my back was turned, 
 come out an' go to the barn. He won't see 
 me, an' I can't undo the mischief. No, I 
 have sinned, an' I must bear the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 He looked so very pale as he passed his 
 hand wearily across his forehead, that Miss 
 Judith's heart almost failed her. What if this 
 trouble should be the last thing calculated to 
 break down this old man who had struggled 
 so bravely through the countless trials of a 
 long life. She must make another effort. 
 
 "Well, don't be troubled," she said quietly, 
 and summoning a smile to her face. "When 
 one is ready to atone, Deacon Badger, for a
 
 166 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 wrong, there is always a way provided. 
 Remember that ; always a way." 
 
 " Not in my case," said the poor Deacon. 
 "No, Judith, I've given up all hope. That 
 the Lord has forgiven me, I'm very grateful 
 for ; but I don't expect he's goin' to put 
 every thin' back same's 'twas before. No, I've 
 sinned, an' I must bear the consequences. It's 
 all right only Doctor Pilcher " 
 
 She had to leave him so at last ; and the 
 bright smile faded from her lips and eyes as 
 she passed swiftly down the village street on 
 this morning to her own little home, trying to 
 think of some new plan to work comfort for 
 her poor friend. 
 
 " Mr. Whittaker now must appeal to Doctor 
 Pilcher's conscience ; there is no other way," 
 she said firmly to herself. " Every word that 
 I might say would only make the matter 
 worse. And Doctor Pilcher has a conscience, 
 if it can only be heard through the tempest 
 of passion that he has allowed to control him. 
 Well, here I am at home ! I'll just run in 
 and get that sack pattern for Mrs. Whittaker, 
 as long as I am going down there." 
 
 She turned in at the little brown gate with
 
 TOM GOES TO SCHOOL. 167 
 
 a feeling, despite her anxiety about the Deacon 
 and her missing Tom's presence, of glad rest- 
 fulness at being once more at the place called 
 "home." 
 
 " I declare," she said with a low laugh, 
 sweet and merry as if girlish days were not 
 so very far behind, after all, "an old maid's 
 corner isn't the worst place in the world ! " 
 And she stood on the old flat door-stone a 
 moment before going in. 
 
 The soft wind played gently on her face, 
 bringing the pungent, refreshing odors of a 
 neighboring pine grove ; the sunlight slanting 
 through the tall maples rested lovingly on the 
 strong outline, and lighted up the dark eyes 
 and hair. Miss Judith, giving herself up to 
 the influence of the scene, stood dreamily 
 allowing her gaze to rest on the far-distant 
 purple hills, whose message fell with strength- 
 ful tenderness into her very heart. Suddenly 
 a slight noise, not created by any thing in the 
 world lying without, struck her ear. She paused 
 from her pleasant meditations to listen. Again ! 
 this time making itself quite plainly to be 
 heard. It was a groan, and from within the 
 house, as if some one were in great distress.
 
 168 THE PETTIBONE XAME. 
 
 As quickly as possible, Miss Judith let herself 
 in at the old-fashioned door, and, following the 
 sound, soon came to the little back passage, 
 where, at the head of the cellar stairs, in a 
 heap on the floor just as she had fallen, lay 
 widow Scarritt. 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad you've come ! " exclaimed 
 the poor little old lady ; and then, seeing no 
 further need for control now that " Judith " 
 was there, the widow Scarritt fainted completely 
 away. 
 
 Miss Pettibone stepped into the kitchen, and 
 seizing the dipper, filled it with water which 
 she sprinkled into the white, withered face, 
 chafing the thin little hands and bathing the 
 cold forehead until she had the satisfaction of 
 seeing the trembling eyelids unclose, and of 
 hearing the weak voice that proclaimed the old 
 lady slowly coming back to life again. 
 
 "Oh dear, dear!" exclaimed , widow Scarritt 
 querulously ; " how could I a fell ! How could 
 I ! An' I spilt all my potatoes, too ! " She 
 tried at that thought to lift her head for an 
 examination into the state of the burden she 
 had been carrying ; but a twinge of pain made 
 her sink back helplessly again with a groan as
 
 TOM GOES TO SCHOOL. 169 
 
 much worse than her former efforts as it was 
 possible to imagine. 
 
 " Never mind," said Miss Judith soothingly ; 
 "I'll pick them up for you," as her eyes 
 fell on the various specimens of that necessary 
 vegetable that now seemed to be all over the 
 floor and racing away to every point of the 
 compass, the pan having run away by itself 
 under the table. "There, there, don't think 
 any more about them ! How long have you 
 lain here ? " 
 
 "Most two hours," groaned Mrs. Scarritt. 
 " Oh ! my back's broke, an' my hip, an' my 
 head. Oh dear, dear, dear! I'm broke all over." 
 
 "Oh, I guess not," said Miss Judith sooth- 
 ingly. Then she caught up the widow's gray 
 morning shawl hanging over the calico-covered 
 rocker. "Now, then," and she deftly slipped 
 it under the poor old lady's head, " that makes 
 it a little better, doesn't it ? " 
 
 " Not a mite, " said Mrs. Scarritt, twisting 
 worse than before. " How can it, when I've 
 lain here for hours an' hours ? Oh dear, dear, 
 dear! what shall I do?" 
 
 "Tisn't very far along now in the morning, 
 Mrs. Scarritt, " said Miss Judith gently, and
 
 170 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 trying to disengage her hand from the ner- 
 vous clasp of the little thin one clinging to 
 it. 
 
 " Yis, 'tis, too ! " contradicted the little old 
 lady. "I've lain here hours an' hours; the clock 
 jest struck ten when I started for the cellar. 
 That's what made me think of the potatoes. 
 Don't I know ? Oh dear, dear, dear ! " 
 
 Miss Judith glanced through the doorway 
 into the kitchen. The hands of the old cor- 
 ner clock told the story of quarter past ten. 
 
 " Now will you let me go for a few 
 moments, Mrs. Scarritt ? " she said, turning back 
 to her, and smiling reassuringly into the fright- 
 ened face ; " I'll be back very soon. " 
 
 "Where you goin' ? " asked the little widow 
 in a tremor. " Oh ! don't leave me alone, Judy ; 
 I can't bear it. I've lain here now for hours 
 an' hours, an' nobody come. Don't leave me 
 alone ! " And she clung with both hands wher- 
 ever she could grasp Miss Pettibone or her 
 garments. 
 
 " Only to get some of the neighbors, " said 
 Miss Judith soothingly, " to help lift you, Mrs. 
 Scarritt ; I'm afraid I might hurt you to try to 
 do it alone. "
 
 TOM GOES TO SCHOOL. 171 
 
 "Of course you might, " said the old lady 
 energetically ; " I sh'd all come apart. Oh ! you 
 couldn't do it, an' I wouldn't let you try. I 
 want Doctor Pilcher, that's what I want, for 
 I'm all broke to pieces, Judy ; I am ! " She 
 put up her poor little quivering mouth like a 
 terrified child, while the tears rolled down the 
 withered cheeks. 
 
 Miss Judith leaned over, and dropped a ten- 
 der kiss pityingly on the mouth. " I'll go 
 right off to send Samantha to you, " she said, 
 starting toward the door. 
 
 " An' Doctor Pilcher, " cried Mrs. Scarritt 
 eagerly after her ; " be sure you git him as 
 quick's you can, Judith ; just as quick's ever 
 you can, " she pleaded. 
 
 " I will ; " promised Miss Judith. 
 Fortunately remembering a chance word 
 dropped by the little dressmaker at the break- 
 fast-table in regard to her destination for the 
 day, she turned her steps in the direction of 
 Mr. Bassett's, the shoemaker's house. 
 
 In the small patch of ground called by Mrs. 
 Bassett out of courtesy, " the flower-garding, " 
 but which resembled a mixture of Sahara-like 
 desert and a straggling thicket of weeds, only
 
 172 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 brightened by the attempt to live, on the part 
 of a few unhappy poppies and marigolds, she 
 discovered the bent form of old Mr. Hine, 
 Mrs. Bassett's father. 
 
 On her sudden appearance within the ragged 
 inclosure the old man, glad of any interruption 
 that promised a moment's respite, straightened 
 himself up, and the faint glimmer of a smile 
 stole over his tired face. 
 
 "How d'ye do?" he said sociably. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Hine ? " responded Miss 
 Pettibone with a pitying glance. 
 
 " Pleasant weather, " ventured the old man, 
 leaning on his hoe-handle. 
 
 "Very," said Miss Judith. Then she stopped 
 just an instant. " I wish I could stay and talk 
 with you, Mr. Hine, " she added kindly, " but 
 I'm in a great hurry. Mrs. Scarritt has fallen 
 and hurt herself, and I've come for Samantha. " 
 
 " Sho ! now, " began old Mr. Hine in tones 
 of the deepest condolence, that were summa- 
 rily interrupted by a childish voice pitched on 
 the highest key of delighted impatience " Ma ! 
 ma ! Mis. Scarritt's dead, an' she wants Miss 
 S'manthy ! " as Janey Bassett sprang up from 
 some inconceivable hiding-place back of Miss
 
 TOM GOES TO SCHOOL. 173 
 
 Pettibone and scuttled into the kitchen with her 
 news. 
 
 Miss Pettibone's haste only carried her to 
 the door in time to meet Miss Scarritt rush- 
 ing out. 
 
 " Samantha, don't be frightened, " cried Miss 
 Judith, grasping her arm, to stay her wild 
 flight. 
 
 " Let me go, Judith ! " screamed the little 
 dressmaker, almost wild with terror and twist- 
 ing excitedly underneath the firm hand ; while 
 Mrs. Bassett following closely, expostulated, 
 asked questions, and found fault generally, 
 without stopping to take breath. 
 
 " You ain't a goin' to leave me without bastin' 
 them sleeves in, are you ? " she cried, pushing in 
 between ; " I'll run down an' see your ma, Miss 
 S'manthy. Miss Pettibone's got scat." 
 
 Just here old Mr. Hine joined himself to the 
 group. 
 
 " Don't keep her," he said earnestly, catching 
 the last words ; and he raised his trembling 
 hand in warning toward his daughter. 
 
 " Do you go back to your work, pa," she 
 commanded angrily, " an' leave things you don't 
 understand, to the women folks who do."
 
 174 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "Don't keep her," he warned. Yet he went 
 back, and obediently took up the hoe once more 
 with a sigh. 
 
 Miss Pettibone hurrying down the village street 
 again, had the hand of the little dressmaker 
 tightly clasped in her own strong palm, while 
 she rapidly made her acquainted with all that 
 would meet her on her arrival home. And by 
 the time they reached the corner where the road 
 ran up the hill, she had the satisfaction of seeing 
 that Miss Scarritt had attained a reasonable 
 degree of composure. 
 
 " I'll get brother John to go to Franklin as 
 soon as possible for Doctor Pilcher," said Miss 
 Judith. " Now, Samantha, remember, don't get 
 frightened ; you can do twice as much for your 
 mother if you only keep cool." 
 
 Miss Scarritt only flashed her a look, while she 
 started off wringing her hands in the desperate 
 effort at self-control. 
 
 "Where's John?" asked Miss Judith, entering 
 the sitting-room of the old homestead to find 
 only her sister-in-law within. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," replied 'Gusty, who was 
 looking over some of Tom's cast-off clothes, and 
 crying between every glance. "Oh yes, I do,
 
 TOM GOES TO SCHOOL. 175 
 
 too. He left his work and went over to Box- 
 ville about half an hour ago with Mr. Folinsbee. 
 He said he should fly crazy if he didn't go some- 
 wheres, he felt so bad about Tom. What's the 
 matter, Judith ? " as she caught sight of her sister- 
 in-law's face. 
 
 " I can't stop to tell you now," said Miss 
 Judith hastily. " I wanted him to do an errand ; 
 that's all." Then she shut the door and started 
 down the hill again. 
 
 " I must ask the first boy or man I see," she 
 said to herself, hurrying along. 
 
 A cloud of dust in the distance announced the 
 approach of some one in an old top buggy coming 
 at a lively pace. Miss Judith stepped quickly 
 into the tangled underbrush by the roadside, to 
 appeal to the traveller's sympathies. 
 
 " Will you ? " she began anxiously. 
 
 " Can I be of service ? " The minister from 
 Franklin put his head out at this question while, 
 despite his evident pleasure at being summoned, 
 a smile, that, to save him he could not wholly 
 restrain, played under his thick beard at sight of 
 her astonished face. 
 
 " No, thank you ! " exclaimed Miss Pettibone, 
 stepping with the extremest haste out of a
 
 176 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 small thicket of low blackberry bushes that had 
 entwined themselves nicely around her feet 
 and dress. "I'll I'll try and find some other 
 way. Thank you, but it's no matter, " and 
 she essayed to pursue her journey. 
 
 But the blackberry bushes had a nice hold 
 which they didn't mean to give up, so the 
 more they were shaken by a hand not alto- 
 gether gentle, the more they were disinclined 
 to yield this advantage. " Let me assist you," 
 cried the minister, dropping the reins and 
 preparing to spring out. 
 
 "Oh, don't trouble yourself," cried Miss Pet- 
 tibone quickly. "It's soon conquered, I think." 
 Nevertheless each branch sprang neatly into 
 place again as soon as an energetic twist had 
 carried it back a hopeful distance, making her 
 more of a prisoner than ever. 
 
 " Blackberry bushes have greater persistency, 
 I suppose," said Mr. Beebe, now by her side, 
 " than any thing else on earth. Certainly it is 
 the most apt illustration that appeals to our 
 minds, Miss Pettibone, at the present mo- 
 ment. Ah ! let me see ; it is this incorrigible 
 fellow here, this long branch, that makes all 
 the trouble. There, now then," by a vigorous
 
 TOM GOES TO SCHOOL. 177 
 
 wrench breaking it off, "the whole world's 
 your prison. In other words, you are free. " 
 He smiled on her, and without giving her a 
 chance to speak, asked quickly, "What is it 
 you need some errand? I'm going right 
 over to Franklin. Any thing there ? " 
 
 " Thank you," said Miss Pettibone simply, 
 and looking down at her torn dress and a 
 few scrags of her shawl fringe left as memen- 
 toes to sway on the tips of the vanquished 
 bushes. " Yes, it is an errand," she added 
 quickly, " for Doctor Pilcher ; if you will be 
 good enough to send him at once to Mrs. 
 Scarritt's." 
 
 " Any of the children come to harm ? " 
 asked Mr. Beebe. " I know it isn't Bobby 
 Jane, because I've just set her down at the 
 corner; and even she hasn't had time to break 
 her neck. " 
 
 " Mrs. Scarritt has fallen," explained Miss 
 Judith hurriedly. " I don't know how I 
 wasn't at home. It's impossible to tell how 
 much she is hurt, but Doctor Pilcher ought to 
 see her at once." 
 
 " I'll send him right over," exclaimed the 
 Reverend Mr. Beebe, springing back into his
 
 178 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 carriage. "Don't be troubled, Miss Pettibone. 
 Good-morning ! " 
 
 Miss Pettibone walked down the hill with 
 firm, even steps, and carried her head with 
 its usual stately poise, but her thoughts were 
 not calming, to say the least. 
 
 " There are two errands I've sent that man 
 on!" she exclaimed, "besides not being able 
 to keep out of a blackberry snarl without his 
 help. Judith Pettibone, you better go home ! "
 
 THE DEACON'S AFFAIRS WAX WORSE. 179 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DEACON'S AFFAIRS WAX WORSE. 
 
 AND go home she did, with, despite her 
 pity for the poor little widow, a mind 
 considerably tossed up with an overwhelming 
 vexation that would assert itself above every 
 thing else. 
 
 Miss Samantha had contrived to prop her 
 mother up against a big rocking-chair, where 
 the poor little old lady groaned and bewailed 
 her fate in heart-rending tones, nearly driving 
 her daughter to distraction. 
 
 "O Judith! what shall we do?" cried the 
 little dressmaker at the first sight of her tall 
 friend. " Her back's broke, an' her hip, an' 
 every thin' ! Is Doctor Pilcher comin' ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Judith concisely, " just as 
 soon as the word can get to him. Are you 
 in much pain, Mrs. Scarritt ? " she asked, her 
 tone changing to a tender one of pity, as
 
 180 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 she remorsefully concentrated her attention on 
 the poor little old lady. 
 
 "Oh dear, dear, dear! I guess I be," cried 
 the widow, in great distress. " Do gimme a 
 cup o' tea, an' somethin' to eat. I'm most 
 dead, lyin' here." 
 
 Miss Pettibone looked at her keenly, and 
 turned to meet Miss Samantha, who, flying 
 into the kitchen for the tea-pot, now met her 
 with one hand encumbered with the dishcloth, 
 and the other with a huge frying-pan, which, 
 although a necessary article of household use, 
 was not exactly suited to the present condi- 
 tion of her mother's mind. Flourishing them 
 briskly, she ran up to the little widow. 
 
 "Oh dear, dear, dear!" groaned the poor 
 woman, turning her eyes up to her daughter 
 and her strange burden, " what shall I do ? 
 She's gone crazy ; Judy, do take them things 
 away and give me some tea. Oh dear me 
 deary me ! I've broke my hip and S'manthy's 
 gone crazy. What shall I do?" 
 
 "Don't be so frightened, Samantha," said 
 Miss Judith to her little friend, rescuing the 
 frying-pan and dishcloth from the wiry hands. 
 "I don't think she's much hurt," she whispered
 
 THE DEACON'S AFFAIRS WAX WORSE. 181 
 
 in Miss Samantha's ear. " Here, I'll carry 
 these things back and get your tea, Mrs. 
 Scarritt," she said cheerily. " Then, says I, 
 we'll try and get you up into a more com- 
 fortable position ; perhaps we can lift you to 
 the bed." 
 
 / 
 
 " No, no, no ! " exclaimed Mrs. Scarritt in 
 great alarm, and shrinking into as small a 
 heap as possible, while Miss Pettibone hurried 
 off for a steaming cup of her favorite bever- 
 age. " I ain't a goin' to be moved till the 
 Doctor comes," she persisted. " Don't you 
 either of you touch me; I'm all broke to 
 pieces." 
 
 "We will carry you very gently," said Miss 
 Judith, coming back with the tea. " There, 
 see how nice this is ! After you have drank 
 it you will feel better." 
 
 " The tea's well enough," said the old lady, 
 taking a plentiful swallow as Miss Judith held 
 it to her lips, " but I ain't a goin' to feel 
 better," she added testily, "till the Doctor 
 comes." Then she burst into a flood of weak, 
 repining tears. " O Judy ! what shall I do ? 
 What shall I do?" 
 
 Miss Samantha came running back from the
 
 182 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 window where she had gone to watch for the 
 first rattle of the Doctor's gig wheels. 
 
 "Don't, ma," she began, "oh, don't!" Then 
 she began to cry. In the midst of it all, in 
 came a crowd of neighbors, and sympathizing 
 or curious, as the case might be, village 
 people, headed by Mrs. Bassett, who, finding 
 that she was unable to do any thing further to 
 the half-completed dress until the sleeves were 
 in, decided to take a holiday. Accordingly, 
 being exceedingly industrious in the matter of 
 spreading the news, with various addenda 
 wholly her own, she had collected quite a 
 crowd. So that by the time Doctor Pilcher 
 drove up, he found the house fairly swarming 
 with anxious, excited women, each pushing 
 their particular remedy to the front with ad- 
 mirable zeal. 
 
 "The first thing," said the little man in a 
 loud voice, as he took in the state of affairs, 
 " this room must be cleared." 
 
 Miss Judith whispered a few words to kind 
 Mrs. Parsons. 
 
 " I'll see to it," she whispered back. And 
 then the word went around, and presently by 
 ones and twos they stole out.
 
 THE DEACON'S AFFAIRS WAX WORSE. 183 
 
 " A set of raving, tearing women ! " exclaimed 
 the Doctor irately, and opening his surgical 
 case in a savage fashion. "Now, then, ma'am, 
 where are you hurt ? " He got down on his 
 knees on the floor before the small heap and 
 felt her pulse. 
 
 " All over," said Mrs. Scarritt comprehensively, 
 delighted at the Doctor's appearance. " My back's 
 broke, an' my hip, an' " 
 
 " One at a time's enough," said the Doctor. 
 And then he laughed. 
 
 At sound of that laugh Miss Scarritt jumped 
 like a corn-kernel popping before a bright fire ; 
 then she stiffened up her wiry little figure till 
 a ramrod was nothing in comparison, and, glaring 
 at him, she snapped out : 
 
 "I sh'd think you'd laugh!" 
 
 " Hey ? " said Doctor Pilcher, turning around 
 on her diminutive figure two very astonished blue 
 eyes. " Oh ! beg pardon, ma'am, if your feelings 
 are hurt ; but it's the best thing in the world 
 for her, a laugh is." He nodded, as he spoke, 
 to the little old lady. Then he burst out cheer- 
 ily : "Now, then, ma'am, excuse me " 
 
 Before she could remonstrate, he had lifted 
 her up and borne her gently and swiftly across
 
 184 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 through the kitchen and deposited her on the 
 big square bed in the old bedroom. " There \ " 
 he exclaimed, when that was done to his satis- 
 faction ; " now, we'll see where the trouble is." 
 
 In five minutes Mrs. Scarritt was sitting up, 
 with a big bandage wet with arnica and worm- 
 wood around her ankle. She herself was enjoy- 
 ing a cup of fragrant tea, of which she drew 
 long draughts as consolation for the humiliating 
 descent into a commonplace invalid. The Doctor 
 was buttoning himself into his linen duster, 
 preparatory to his drive home over the hills. 
 
 " Only a sprained ankle," he said, for about 
 the twentieth time. "She better not walk on 
 it for a day or two; then she'll be all right. 
 Well, good-day, Mrs. Scarritt ! See that you 
 don't tumble down again." 
 
 " Doctor," said the little old lady, swallowing 
 the last drop in the cup and looking up in 
 his face, " what you goin' to do about Deacon 
 Badger ? " 
 
 Miss Judith, who was on the other side of 
 the room, started, but too late to stop matters. 
 
 "What do you say?" cried Doctor Pilcher, 
 fastening his eyes angrily on the old lady's face. 
 
 " Deacon Badger, I said," repeated Mrs. Scar-
 
 THE DEACON'S AFFAIRS WAX WORSE. 185 
 
 ritt deprecatingly. " Don't lay it up against 
 him. He shouldn't a talked so ; but then, he 
 didn't mean it, I know. Why, he's been a per- 
 fessor's long as I have ; an' that's forty year 
 come next December. I remember, 'cause he 
 an' Betsey Harris joined at the same time, an' 
 folks alwus thought he'd marry her, but he 
 didn't, an' " 
 
 " I'll have no more interference about this 
 matter ! " cried Doctor Pilcher, interrupting her 
 harangue. " Let me repeat : No more from a 
 living soul ! " He whirled around savagely on 
 the other occupants of the room, in order that 
 there should be no mistake. " When it comes 
 to such a pass, the thing's got to be stopped." 
 
 Miss Samantha, as has been said before, being 
 no respecter of persons, cared as much for this 
 declaration as if uttered by an 'angry child. And 
 her spirits being at their highest notch, by the 
 fortunate termination of the accident, she could 
 do nothing better than to indulge in a good 
 hearty laugh. 
 
 The Doctor grew angrier and angrier each 
 moment, seeing which, Miss Samantha either 
 couldn't, or wouldn't stop. At last, at such time 
 as she considered it appropriate to assume so-
 
 186 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 briety of demeanor, she wiped her eyes with her 
 little brown work apron. 
 
 "There! I feel better now," she said. "Turn 
 about is fair play, an' I've had my laugh." 
 
 " There's no such thing in this world as fair 
 play," cried the little Doctor, glaring at her 
 angrily, at which she nearly went off into con- 
 vulsions again. " I've been perfectly abused 
 through this whole affair. Now, once for all, I 
 never'll hear another word about it; never!" 
 
 Miss Judith folded her lips tightly together 
 on the closing of the door, as one who had no 
 occasion for words. Going out immediately after 
 into the back passage, to slip up to her own 
 room, she ran against Mrs. Bassett, who, with a 
 very red face, suddenly assumed a perpendicular. 
 
 "Oh er I was thinkin' I'd jest step in 
 an' see if I could do any thin' before I went 
 home," she stammered. 
 
 " Samantha doesn't need help now," said Miss 
 Judith with a penetrating gaze. Had she heard 
 any thing to serve as a nucleus around which a 
 good-sized ball of gossip, such as only Mrs. Bas- 
 sett knew how to roll, could be formed ? 
 
 " Then I'll run home," said the shoemaker's 
 wife briskly, and stepping off. " You tell S'man-
 
 THE DEACON'S AFFAIRS WAX WORSE. 187 
 
 thy that I would a helped. Be sure now; don't 
 forgit ! " 
 
 Doctor Pilcher, driving home, fumed and 
 grunted away to himself in the depths of his 
 gig. Somehow, that laugh of the little dress- 
 maker's nettled him beyond expression, reveal- 
 ing to him his overmastering temper as noth- 
 ing else could. Every revolution of the wheels 
 seemed to echo it ; every hoof-beat of the faith- 
 ful old horse struck its scornful ring into his 
 very heart. 
 
 " Pshaw ! why do I mind it ! " at last he said, 
 with a savage pull of his hat over his eyes. 
 Still it rang through and through him. Even 
 the trees waved it back to him, as he spun 
 swiftly along the highway. "Just like a woman," 
 he .muttered, at last reaching his own gate to 
 fling the reins down and spring out; "they 
 haven't any sense to know who's right or wrong. 
 Well, let her laugh, if she wants to ; neverthe- 
 less it will be one long day before Deacon Bad- 
 ger gets over it." 
 
 And in truth it was hard for Deacon Badger 
 about these days. All opportunity for any inter-
 
 188 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 vention seemed now gone. Clearly, according to 
 Miss Judith's view of it, there was nothing to 
 be done but to wait patiently until such time 
 as Doctor Pilcher should come to his senses. 
 
 Every thing else swung around again into its 
 proper orbit, to run on smoothly. Mrs. Scarritt, 
 finding nothing but a sprained ankle in the way 
 of her recovery, picked up courage, and was 
 soon pattering from kitchen to cellar, from 
 keeping-room to attic, pursuing her domestic 
 duties as placid and busy as ever. 
 
 And now Miriam, that all things were ready 
 for her, left the old homestead on the hill and 
 came down to the small room ; came to make 
 a different place by her once entering it as 
 her own. After she had slept in the big bed, 
 the stiff, heavy curtains surrounding it took on 
 an altogether changed shape to aunt Judith's 
 eyes, every fold seeming to say, "There are 
 new, fresh dreams of life to go on under here." 
 The very walls appeared to feel her presence, 
 and blossomed out into bits of mosses and 
 ferns in every niche and cranny wherever there 
 was a resting-place for them. 
 
 " My sakes ! anybody'd know there was a girl 
 in here at the first wink," exclaimed the little
 
 THE DEACON'S AFFAIRS WAX WORSE. 189 
 
 dressmaker, peering in in great satisfaction ; for, 
 despite her objections, Miss Scarritt had thrown 
 her whole enthusiasm into aunt Judith's prep- 
 arations for her guest. " It's good to have 
 you here, Mirry," she said simply. 
 
 " I thought you didn't like to have me come, 
 Miss Samantha," said Miriam, laughing and 
 blushing brightly. 
 
 "No more I didn't," said Miss Scarritt hon- 
 estly, "on account of your aunt. But I'm glad 
 you're here now ; I certainly am, Mirry ; an' 
 I really think you'll be a master sight o' com- 
 fort to her. In the end, at any rate." 
 
 " I mean to be," said the girl, while a pink 
 flush rose to her pretty hair. "But no one 
 could begin to pay aunt Judith for all she's 
 done for us always, if they tried." 
 
 " You never said a truer word in your life," 
 said Miss Scarritt, laying her hand solemnly 
 on the slight shoulder. " Truer'n you know 
 for, too. But you can try an' begin to do 
 something and may the Lord make it a great 
 deal ! "
 
 190 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 MRS. BASSETT CONCLUDES TO HELP THE DEACON*S 
 TROUBLE ALONG. 
 
 YOU mark my words," said Mrs. Bassett, 
 "there's goin' to be somethin' worth 
 while over at Sewin' S'ciety to-night. Twon't 
 be old Mis. Henderson either, talkin' forever, 
 as she did last meetin', about her son in Ingy. 
 Who cares whether he's in Ingy or Austra- 
 liasy." 
 
 "Tain't Australiasy, ma," said Janey, tying 
 up her hair with a faded pink ribbon before 
 the cracked looking-glass in the corner; "it's 
 Australia. Teacher told us about it last week 
 on the map." 
 
 "Your teacher don't know every thin'," 
 retorted Mrs. Bassett, who, though dreadfully 
 proud of her daughter's book-learning, couldn't 
 brook corrections, especially when she had 
 company. And Mrs. Folinsbee sat right there
 
 MRS. BASSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 191 
 
 in the old kitchen, drinking in every word. 
 "An' it's the worst thing in the world for 
 children to correct their parents. Things has 
 come to a pretty pass, then." 
 
 "You correct gran'pa," said Janey positively, 
 and making a second bow in the ribbon, 
 "awful, an' sometimes you " 
 
 "Stop!" commanded Mrs. Bassett, stamping 
 her foot in extreme anger, so that the tin 
 dishes on the dresser rattled sympathetically, 
 "this blessed minute, or you'll git a correction 
 such as you won't want again. An' do you 
 go out an' take them seams to that sheet an' 
 overhand 'em up. Start, as quick as you can 
 step now ! It all comes from lettin' her go 
 to the deestrict school," she said to her vis- 
 itor, as Janey, not daring to disobey, went out 
 whimpering, "an' associatin' with everybody," 
 she added, while the little thin mouth before 
 her was wrinkling fearfully in its attempts to 
 say something when there should be a chance 
 to speak. 
 
 " What is't to be at S'ciety ? " asked Mrs. 
 Folinsbee eagerly, now that the chance had 
 come, and thrusting forward her sharp face, in 
 which two black, bead-like eyes glittered expect-
 
 192 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 antly. "Do tell, Mis. Bassett, if it's any 
 thin' partic'lar, for I didn't know as I sh'd 
 go this time. I ain't feelin' right smart this 
 mornin'." 
 
 " Oh, you better not miss it, now I tell 
 you," said Mrs. Bassett decidedly, knowing 
 very well that nothing on earth would keep 
 her neighbor away; "it'll be one of the 
 biggest meetin's we've had in one spell, an' 
 no wonder." Here she laughed exasperatingly, 
 as one who could communicate volumes if she 
 only chose. 
 
 "What is't? What is't ? " cried Mrs. Folins- 
 bee in the most intense excitement, and slip- 
 ping to the edge of her chair, to look implor- 
 ingly into her hostess' face. "It b'longs to me, 
 I'm sure, as much as any one, if it's S'ciety 
 news." 
 
 " You must go an' hear it same as other 
 folks," said the shoemaker's wife coolly, and 
 going to the pantry for her cake-pans. "Don't 
 you be a mite afeared, Mis. Folinsbee ; you'll 
 hear it all then. Everybody's talkin' about it." 
 " What is't about ? " cried Mrs. Folinsbee, 
 unable to bear the strain longer; and, getting 
 up from her chair, she went over to the
 
 MRS. BA SSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 193 
 
 baking-table to wedge her question in between 
 the dumping of each spoonful of cake-mixture 
 into its respective pan. 
 
 " Well, I donno but what I'll tell you just 
 the name," said Mrs. Bassett thoughtfully, 
 resting her long spoon on the edge of the 
 cake-bowl ; " then you can be thinkin' it out, 
 an' twon't hurt your enjoyment more when 
 you come to hear the story." 
 
 "Yes, yes; who is't ? " cried Mrs. Folinsbee, 
 pressing as near as possible to the holder of 
 the spoon, so as not to lose a syllable. 
 
 " Take care, Mis. Folinsbee," said Mrs. Bassett 
 warningly ; " don't come too clus, you might git 
 some on your gown." 
 
 Mrs. Folinsbee brushed her old green morning 
 wrapper impatiently, only half comprehending the 
 sarcastic allusion to its state, that a few little 
 grease spots, more or less, could not harm. 
 " It's no time to think of gowns," she exclaimed 
 quickly, " when any evil is abroad in our Church. 
 Now, who is't ? You said you'd tell." 
 
 Mrs. Bassett gave her one impressive look, 
 then laid down the cake-spoon, leaned over, and 
 let fall two words into the small wrinkled ear. 
 
 " Deacon Badger ! "
 
 194 THE PETTIEONE NAME. 
 
 " Oh, my senses-ation ! " cried Mrs. Folins- 
 bee, breaking away as if shot. Then, not being 
 able to recover herself, she sat down on the first 
 thing presented to her, which proved to be a 
 bandbox enclosing her hostess' Sunday bonnet 
 reposing in a low chair till such time as its owner 
 could get from her baking to alter the bow in 
 the back. 
 
 " Look out, Mis. Folinsbee ! " cried Mrs. Bas- 
 sett, throwing down her spoon, and also starting 
 forward. But too late. The bandbox and its 
 contents had received its quietus, and bore un- 
 complainingly the palpitating form of the sur- 
 prised matron. 
 
 "I sh'd think you might look where you're 
 goin'," exclaimed the vexed Mrs. Bassett, hurry- 
 ing to the spot. " Do git up ! " she cried, laying 
 hold of the green wrapper. " I 'xpect twon't be 
 fit to be seen, leastways to go on my head. Do 
 git up ! " 
 
 " Deacon Badger ! " repeated Mrs. Folinsbee, 
 quivering on top of the bandbox, and holding 
 up both hands. " I never heard such a thing 
 in all my born days. Why, I thought he was the 
 salt of the earth. Deacon Badger ! I am so 
 surprised."
 
 MRS. BASSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 195 
 
 " Well, s'pose you be," cried Mrs. Bassett, 
 dragging at her sleeve and bestowing several 
 pokes in the region of the ribs, to enforce atten- 
 tion ; " is that any reason you sh'd go 'round settin' 
 on folks' bonnets an' smashin' 'em in, an' " 
 
 " Bonnets ! " exclaimed Mrs. Folinsbee in still 
 greater surprise, and skipping up so quickly she 
 nearly overthrew her irate hostess. " What do you 
 mean ? I ain't seen no bonnets," she added in 
 a bewildered way. 
 
 "Well, you've sat on 'em if you ain't," re- 
 torted Mrs. Bassett, tugging anxiously at the 
 cover of the box to discover damages. 
 
 " There ! just see there, Mis. Folinsbee, what 
 you've gone an' done ! " as she dragged the 
 bonnet out; "not a versal time can I wear that 
 thing again. See there ! " 
 
 She held up at arms-length a gray silk bonnet 
 with a bit of feather at top and a long gray satin 
 bow hanging down at the back. The feather 
 had been broken short off in the middle, its 
 remnant pointing skyward in the most grotesque 
 fashion, as if to counsel the renouncing of all 
 earthly pomps and vanities, while the meeting 
 side of the hat presented a decidedly concave 
 appearance.
 
 196 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Mrs. Folinsbee was unable to speak, but stood- 
 a picture of astonishment, her eyes fastened on 
 the luckless head-gear. 
 
 " I was goin' to alter that bow," said Mrs. 
 Bassett in the accents of despair, " as soon as 
 I got my cake in the oven. But I don't see as 
 there's any use now. All the bows in creation 
 wouldn't make the end of that feather grow 
 on again, or that jam come straight ; an' besides, 
 
 9 
 
 the silk's all creased up." 
 
 Mrs. Folinsbee still stared. At last she said, 
 " Did I do that ? " pointing to it with trembling 
 ringer. 
 
 " Of course you did," cried the shoemaker's 
 wife smartly ; " you sat right straight on it ; an' 
 look at it now, just as flat as a pancake ! " 
 She waved the poor old bonnet before the bird- 
 like eyes, each wave increasing her irritation. 
 
 "You can smooth it out again," said Mrs. 
 Folinsbee, essaying to take it. " Here, let me try ! " 
 
 "No, you can't either," exclaimed Mrs. Bassett 
 decidedly, and edging off from the long fingers. 
 " Nothin' will ever bring that straight again. 
 An' besides, where's the feather ? " 
 
 " I've got a feather, or at least Mirandy has," 
 replied Mrs. Folinsbee, seeing a way out of the
 
 MRS. BASSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 197 
 
 difficulty, " an' I'll give you that. That'll make 
 it right, I guess, Mis. Bassett," she added ani- 
 matedly. 
 
 " I don't want your old feathers," Mrs. Bassett 
 was going to say, but respect for her rich neigh- 
 bor helped her to hold her tongue. At the 
 same time she was rapidly going over in her 
 mind how much she could extort from the closely- 
 drawn purse of that same neighbor. 
 
 "You know, Mis. Folinsbee," she said decid- 
 edly, and looking her visitor fixedly in the eye, 
 " that I couldn't wear other folks' feathers an' 
 ribbins on my bonnet. Mr. Bassett wouldn't 
 let me. Everybody'd say they was give to me. 
 I must buy some." 
 
 " There won't no one know these," said Mrs. 
 Folinsbee, twisting and rubbing her hands 
 together in a fidgety way, "for they ain't ben 
 out of their box, I guess, these ten year. You 
 know Mirandy's had on black for her husband's 
 father, an' then aunt Susan died, an' John's wife, 
 an' " 
 
 "Yes, yes; I know," said Mrs. Bassett impa- 
 tiently, stopping the recital of Miranda's afflictions ; 
 " but that makes it all the worse. It ain't such 
 a feather as I'd want, then, put by so long."
 
 198 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " I'll run right over an' git it," said Mrs. Fol- 
 insbee eagerly, " an' then you can see for yourself. 
 It's as nice as 'twas the day she put it away." 
 And she started for the door. 
 
 " It ain't no manner o' use," declared the shoe- 
 maker's wife in her most decided way, and laying 
 the bonnet back in its unfortunate resting-place. 
 " I must have what will satisfy me, or nothin' at 
 all. An' I guess you wouldn't quite like to refuse 
 me that, Mis. Folinsbee, after spoilin' what 
 belongs to me." She gave her an extremely 
 keen and cunning look, that made her poor vis- 
 itor shiver as if her money-bags already lay under 
 the powerful grasp of a relentless hand. 
 
 " Well, what will satisfy you ? " she burst out 
 in a thin, distressed key. " Say ! for mercy's 
 sake, tell now, an' be done with it ! " 
 
 " Well, I s'pose five dollars would do," said 
 Mrs. Bassett thoughtfully and considerately, as 
 if making great concessions. 
 
 " Five dollars ! " Mrs. Folinsbee rolled her small 
 eyes to the dingy ceiling, unable to find any 
 words to do justice to the occasion. Finding 
 no comfort there, she brought them down again, 
 to fix her gaze on the plotter against her peaceful 
 possessions, who stood calmly waiting. " You've
 
 MRS. BASSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 199 
 
 worn that bonnet year after year," she burst out 
 at last, finding Mrs. Bassett still silent, " an' 
 everybody knows what a fright it's been ; an' now 
 . you ask me for five dollars to pay for it ! It wa'nt 
 worth a dollar. It ain't right, Mis. Bassett ; it ain't 
 doin' as you'd be done by." She stopped and 
 looked anxiously for a faint gleam of mercy. 
 
 " What everybody thinks of my bonnet ain't 
 the question," observed the shoemaker's wife 
 composedly. " It's what it's worth to me. An' 
 five dollars is just as low as I can say on 
 my conscience that I could get somethin' to 
 put on to my head to go to Church with. An' 
 as for doin' as you'd be done by, Mis. Folins- 
 bee, I don't think I sh'd want to set down 
 on folks' best things an' spile 'em, an' then 
 refuse to pay what would replace 'em. / 
 shouldn't want to." She gave a virtuous sigh 
 that had whole moral essays in it, covering 
 one's duties to one's neighbor, and then 
 waited for her visitor to speak. 
 
 " Won't you take no less ? " asked Mrs. 
 Folinsbee, holding on grimly to the least shred 
 of hope. 
 
 "Not a cent!" declared the shoemaker's 
 wife positively. " I ain't doin' my duty now to
 
 200 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Mr. Bassett to set such a low price on the 
 bonnet ; but it's because you're such a good 
 neighbor, Mis. Folinsbee, that I'm willin' to 
 make it easy for you." 
 
 The indignant Mrs. Folinsbee waited to hear 
 no more, but snapping out, " You can git 
 what you want down to the store five dollars 
 wuth," she hurried across the kitchen to the 
 door, and lifted the latch with no very gentle 
 hand. 
 
 " Well, you'll be at S'ciety, won't you ? " 
 called out Mrs. Bassett pleasantly ; " be sure 
 now ! I wouldn't have you miss it for any thin'." 
 
 There was no response. All the scandal in 
 the world was nothing in comparison, in Mrs. 
 Folinsbee' s mind, to the welfare of the family 
 money-bags. She passed out of the dingy 
 kitchen silently and went home with a world 
 of trouble tugging at her heart-strings. 
 
 "The best morning's work," said Mrs. Bas- 
 sett joyfully to herself, as soon as she was 
 sure she was left alone. " Takes me to do 
 things ! Now if anybody'd a told me an hour 
 ago that I could a drawn a cent out of that 
 tight-fisted old soul, I wouldn't have believed it. 
 And five dollars!"
 
 MRS. BASSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 201 
 
 She went over to the bandbox and peered 
 within it, then tossed the crushed cover 
 scornfully over the contents. " I thought I 
 never should get a new bonnet ; never, in all 
 this world. An' now, says I, I'll have one as 
 good as the best of 'em ; see if I don't ! " 
 
 But the old clock now striking ten, warned 
 her that the morning wouldn't wait for reflec- 
 tions even as happy as her own ; so, jumping 
 up briskly, she attacked her neglected cake- 
 mixture, which she speedily thrust into the 
 oven, shutting the door with a decided bang. 
 
 " Twon't kill anybody for richness," she 
 said with a grim smile. "But it's good enough, 
 seein' I've got to carry two loaves. 'Twas a 
 shame they put down so much to me. Well, 
 I'll go early, so's to get some of Judith Petti- 
 bone's cake, an' Mr. Bassett can come to tea, 
 an' pa an' the children will have some bread 
 an' milk, so that'll save gettin' supper at 
 home. I guess I'll make it up." 
 
 So at three o'clock Mrs. Bassett let her fire 
 go down in the old kitchen, gave her last 
 directions to Janey " to keep house good," 
 and having laid out a clean shirt for her 
 husband in which he might array himself on
 
 202 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 his return from his shop, she pinned her two 
 loaves of cake in a clean napkin, and wended 
 her way " cross lots " to the " Squire Higgins' 
 homestead." Several matrons were before her 
 in the well-worn path leading to the house. 
 They all had large baskets or snowy-napkined 
 parcels, which even at quite a distance emitted 
 a delicious odor such as can only come from 
 the brick oven of a New England kitchen, 
 that gathers with peculiar sweetness the concen- 
 trated flavors of the various edibles cooked 
 therein. 
 
 " How d'ye do ? " said Mrs. Bassett, hurrying 
 up to join them. " O Miss Pettibone ! glad to 
 see you. " 
 
 Miss Judith bowed, and went swiftly up the 
 broad, box-bordered path. 
 
 " Feels pretty bad, don't she, about Deacon 
 Badger?" said the shoemaker's wife, falling back 
 to address a little motherly woman in the 
 rear. 
 
 " Hey ? What ? I haven't heard any thin' 
 about him, " said the little comfortable body, 
 an anxious look at once coming all over her 
 round face. " Is he sick ? " 
 
 "What! Deacon Badger sick?" cried one
 
 MBS. BASSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 203 
 
 or two more, catching now and then a word. 
 
 " No, he ain't sick, " said Mrs. Bassett mys- 
 teriously, "but he might as well be, for all 
 the comfort he or any of the family will take. 
 Ain't you heard about it ? " 
 
 "No," said all as with one breath. "What 
 is it ? " 
 
 " For mercy's sake, tell us, Mis. Bassett ! " 
 cried a tall, angular woman, stopping short in 
 the path. She had long, angular curls, too, 
 if the expression can be pardoned, at either 
 side of her high cheek bones, like sentinels 
 set to protect and enforce every word that fell 
 from the rugged mouth just a little below 
 them. In short, she looked like a person who 
 usually " spoke her mind. " 
 
 " Oh ! I can't stop now, " said the shoe- 
 maker's wife, hurrying on; "an' besides, Judith 
 Pettibone will hear. You'll know before long. 
 Everybody's talkin' about it. " 
 
 The tall, angular woman gave a "Humph!" 
 then marched on stolidly over the flat door- 
 stone and into the door. The first person she 
 met was little Miss Scarritt in holiday attire, 
 who, blithe as a bee, was helping people "lay 
 off their things" and deposit their baskets,
 
 204 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 having been detailed for this duty to save 
 Mrs. Squire Higgins, who was quite feeble 
 from extra exertion. 
 
 " It's your turn to have the Society, " Mrs. 
 Parson Whittaker had said to Mrs. Higgins, 
 "but as Ann and Eliza are away, we shan't 
 any of us come if you don't promise not to 
 think of eatables or any thing else. We will 
 see to every thing." 
 
 Consequently the little dressmaker was just 
 in her element ; and she seized the tall, angu- 
 lar woman's basket-handle with a vehemence 
 that bespoke the heartiest of welcomes. 
 
 "Well, I'm glad to see you," she cried 
 sociably; "you don't often get out. Here, I'll 
 set down this, while you lay off your bonnet." 
 
 " No, you don't either, " declared the angu- 
 lar woman with a decisive nod, and hanging 
 on to her basket, while the sentinel curls sup- 
 ported her by hopping up once wildly, to come 
 down immediately to such a solemn state of 
 stiffness as would delude any one into the 
 belief that they couldn't move. " It's no time 
 to think of baskets till this is settled about 
 Deacon Badger. " 
 
 " Deacon Badger ! " almost screamed Miss
 
 MRS. BASSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 205 
 
 Scarritt. Then by a monstrous effort she shut 
 her mouth, but her face got red, and her 
 little eyes began to snap. 
 
 " Mis. Bassett, " said the tall woman, indi- 
 cating with her thumb that worthy matron, 
 who, having waited upon herself, thus " spying 
 out the land " in the kitchen, now slipped 
 back of them and went into the best room, 
 " has been kind enough to hint something 
 dreadful to pay with Deacon Badger's charac- 
 ter. " 
 
 " Mis. Bassett is a la ! what's the use, " 
 exclaimed the little dressmaker contemptuously, 
 "don't we all know her? Seems as if I'd run 
 down pretty low for news when any thin' she'd 
 say would do more'n go in one ear an' out 
 the other. " 
 
 " I don't set no more by Mis. Bassett than 
 you do, " said the tall woman, looking down 
 into the scornful little face, "but there's some- 
 thin' that other folks is a talkin' of. That's 
 what I want to know. " 
 
 For one instant Miss Scarritt turned cold 
 all over. She could feel her little withered 
 cheek where a bright glow usually rested like 
 the bloom on a late November apple, blanch with
 
 206 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 the fright that crept through and through her at 
 thought of Deacon Badger's name handed around 
 as that of one fallen from grace. But summon- 
 ing all her self-control, she kept her teeth 
 from chattering, and was just on the point of 
 demanding the names of those persons meddling 
 with Deacon Badger's character, when a bustle, 
 together with a babel of voices in the " best 
 room, " as if some subject of the greatest im- 
 portance were started, arrested both her own 
 and her companion's attention. 
 
 " It's a sin an' a shame if he stays deacon 
 after this. " It was, without doubt, Mrs. Bassett's 
 cold, hard voice. 
 
 " She's at it, " cried the little dressmaker 
 explosively, her small eyes sparkling with 
 indignation ; " at her Christian work a ready. 
 Now, then, Miss Marigold, set down your basket 
 anywhere. It's time we were in there to hear 
 what she has to say. " 
 
 The wagging of tongues was something to 
 hear as the two stepped into Mrs. Squire 
 Higgins' best room. All the nicest seats were 
 taken, excepting the corner of the hair-cloth 
 sofa by the window, which, as post of honor, 
 was reserved for Mrs. Parson Whittaker. The
 
 MRS. BA SSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 207 
 
 rattling of knitting-needles fitted in between 
 sentences and filled up all gaps, seeming, by 
 its very noise, to loosen tongues that otherwise 
 might have been afraid to air their owners' 
 convictions. There was a faint show of inter- 
 est over a pile of unbleached cotton cloth on 
 the centre-table, and several matrons had 
 begun to take out their heart-shaped needle- 
 books and adjust their spectacles preparatory 
 to an attack upon it; but the work fairly 
 under way was some topic of conversation 
 brimful of importance, that was rapidly en- 
 grossing the whole meeting. In the buzz, 
 Miss Scarritt and the tall woman entered 
 without attracting any attention, the little 
 dressmaker slipping into a low chair by the 
 door. 
 
 "Oh, I can't think so!" Mrs. Squire 
 Higgins' plaintive treble took up the ball. 
 " When Moses was taken so suddenly, Deacon 
 Badger come right over an' went out to the 
 barn an' helped raise him an' bring him in 
 an' put him on the best bed. He never'd 
 done that if he'd been so bad as you say. I 
 don't know what I should have done without 
 him."
 
 208 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 She raised her black-bordered handkerchief 
 to her eyes, and shook silently in her rocking- 
 chair. 
 
 "Oh, he's kind," said Mrs. Bassett indiffer- 
 ently ; " but that ain't nothin' to do with 
 this." 
 
 " Kind ! I should think he was," cried 
 little Mrs. Parsons. " An' what has he done, 
 I'd be glad to know, that a saint on earth 
 shouldn't do?" 
 
 Thereupon ensued a general- murmur over 
 the room, while two or three faces looked 
 dark and averted, as if a sudden cloud had 
 obscured their usual smiling content. The 
 shoemaker's wife took out her knitting-sheath, 
 pinned it to her side, pursing up her large 
 mouth meanwhile as if horses couldn't draw 
 out the information she possessed, and fell to 
 knitting with exasperating deliberateness on a 
 long blue stocking. 
 
 " Hem ! " Everybody started as the tall, 
 angular woman edged her way into the centre 
 of the group. " This isn't the place to pick 
 words nor to mince matters. If anybody's got 
 any thin' to say against anybody else, now's 
 the time. Free speech is the rule, an' there
 
 MRS. BA SSETT HELPS HIS TROUBLE ALONG. 209 
 
 shan't no one be stopped from sayin* what's 
 on her mind. Go on, Mis. Bassett." 
 
 " I haven't any thin' to say," responded that 
 worthy matron, rattling her needles and purs- 
 ing up her mouth worse than ever. 
 
 " Well, who does know about it, then ? " 
 demanded the tall woman, her curl-guarded 
 face slowly turning on all the group. 
 
 " Why, everybody's talkin' about it," cried the 
 shoemaker's wife unguardedly, not able to con- 
 ceal her triumph longer. "You can't stop it, 
 Miss Marigold," she added with venom, "an' I 
 wouldn't advise you to try." 
 
 " Mis. Bassett told me," cried Mrs. Folinsbee, 
 edging forward from a big splint-bottomed 
 chair, " an' in my opinion, she's the one that 
 started the hull thing," she added in a loud 
 voice, made angry enough by the bonnet 
 episode to testify a dozen times if needful, 
 against the shoemaker's wife. 
 
 The face of the latter flushed a deep, 
 angry red, but she was saved all reply by two 
 or three admonitory coughs accompanied by 
 certain hushings from various quarters, as Mrs. 
 Parson Whittaker came in and smilingly joined 
 the group.
 
 210 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, ladies," she said in her 
 pleasant way to all ; then, stopping here and 
 there, she inquired kindly how Betsey's cold 
 was, and whether uncle Reuben had recovered 
 from the rheumatism, and so forth and so on, 
 until she reached her hair-cloth post of honor. 
 
 But Mrs. Folinsbee couldn't be stopped long. 
 The bonnet causing the loss of her cherished 
 five dollars waved before her and urged her 
 on. " I donno what Deacon Badger's done, an' 
 I donno's I care, but if anybody'll tell me 
 beside Mis. Bassett, why, I'll believe it," she 
 declared in a high, excited key. 
 
 Everybody stopped work at that and stared 
 at each other, while a dreadful pause ensued. 
 Mrs. Whittaker looked distressed beyond meas- 
 ure, and once or twice opened her lips as if 
 going to speak, but thought better of it and 
 closed them again, glancing over toward Miss 
 Pettibone's chair for explanation. 
 
 Miss Judith was setting firm, even stitches 
 in the seam that had grown under her busy 
 fingers steadily all this time ; and now she 
 seemed as coolly unconscious of it all as 
 though not a breeze had been stirred that 
 threatened to prove a storm. Not a ripple of
 
 MRS. BASSETT HELPS HIS TRO UBLE ALONG. 211 
 
 it moved her quiet face as she kindly chatted 
 with her next neighbor, and handed scissors 
 and thread from her well-stored work-bag to 
 others who were not so well prepared to do 
 missionary sewing. 
 
 Without a bit of warning, there fell upon 
 her ears and those belonging to every one else 
 in the room, like a clap of thunder, these 
 words in Mrs. Bassett's angry voice: "Well, 
 if you won't believe me, ask Judith Pettibone!"
 
 212 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY BECOMES INVOLVED. 
 
 ALL eyes were now directed toward Miss 
 Pettibone. The rattling of the knitting- 
 needles over the room ceased, and embryo 
 cotton-cloth garments lost all charm immedi- 
 ately, as work was dropped into the lap by 
 absorbed matrons and maidens. 
 
 Miss Judith looked up and smiled ; a smile 
 that seemed to take them one and all into 
 something so friendly that scandal and its 
 attendant train of evils could find no place. 
 
 " Well ? " she said, and smiled again. 
 
 "You know, Miss Pettibone," said Mrs. 
 Bassett, with a scarlet flame in either cheek, 
 and too excited to think clearly, "that Deacon 
 Badger's been sayin' things that no mortal 
 man should, let alone a deacon of a Church. 
 You know that yourself, as well as you set 
 there, an' tain't any use to pretend t'other 
 way j so 1 "
 
 "HE SEWING SOCIETY BECOMES INVOLVED. 213 
 
 " Where did you hear that, Mrs. Bassett ? " 
 asked Miss Judith calmly, and fastening her 
 clear eyes on the angry face. 
 
 " It ain't any matter where I heard it," 
 declared Mrs. Bassett, flaring up with a great 
 show of independence. But she couldn't avoid 
 an uneasy twisting of her large feet on the 
 Brussels carpet, nor the evident desire to avoid 
 the steady gaze of the clear gray eyes. 
 
 " Where did you say you heard it, Mrs. 
 Bassett ? " repeated Miss Judith, as if she had 
 sufficient leisure to wait for an answer. " I 
 think we all ought to know that before any 
 thing else is said." 
 
 " It ain't any matter, I said," cried the vexed 
 woman. " That makes no dif'rence either. You 
 know that Deacon Badger's been abusin' Doctor 
 Pilcher." 
 
 "An!" said Miss Pettibone coolly. "Now 
 you assert something that, without giving us 
 your authority, I'm afraid will not make much 
 impression, Mrs. Bassett." 
 
 The shoemaker's wife bit her lips in vexa- 
 tion of spirit. How much she would have 
 given to be able to say she had come by her 
 knowledge honestly, and in a way that all
 
 214 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 would respect. But it would scarcely produce 
 other result than contempt and ridicule, to 
 impart the fact that she had been down on 
 her knees in the Scarritt entry, with ear at 
 the Scarritt key- hole So she twisted and 
 turned this way and that in her chair, trying 
 to invent some way to save her credit, and 
 yet launch out successfully this cherished freight 
 of scandal. 
 
 Miss Pettibone gave her one long moment 
 of calm scrutiny ; then she took up her inter- 
 rupted seam and fell to sewing again, now and 
 then turning to a neighbor with some light 
 remark that evinced the little episode to have 
 taken no deep root in her mind. 
 
 The others, following her example, gathered 
 up work again and began bits of talk on 
 different subjects, working womanfully at them. 
 But it was no use so far as general success 
 was concerned. Not even Miss Judith Pettibone, 
 whom they all reverenced, and to whom they 
 looked as leader, could make them forget the 
 sting of the idea lodged in their minds. The 
 very thought of it made them fidgety and 
 constrained, so that talk soon waxed faint, and 
 the spirit of the meeting ebbed lower and lower.
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY BECOMES INVOLVED. 215 
 
 At last, after various consultings of the 
 clock, little Mrs. Parsons nudged Miss Mari- 
 gold and whispered animatedly the first syllable 
 she had allowed herself to enjoy: "We ought 
 to be seein' to cuttin' the biscuits and the 
 ham. That's our part, you know ; and it's 
 time to start now." 
 
 " It's early yet," said Miss Marigold, looking 
 up at the big corner clock ; " not quite four. 
 Well, I donno, though," she added, "but what 
 we might as well commence ; sometimes it takes 
 longer than you think for." 
 
 So she drew off her horn thimble, as she 
 spoke, and, folding up her work deliberately, set- 
 tled her curls and was ready for business at 
 once. 
 
 " Yes, it takes longer than you think for," 
 echoed Mrs. Parsons, skipping to her feet and 
 shaking the threads from her delaine ; and, 
 with the air of a child set free from close 
 confinement, she stepped briskly out into the 
 large kitchen, and drew a long breath. 
 
 " I declare, Miss Marigold," she said when 
 fairly within its cheerful shelter, " I thought 
 'twould never come time to begin gettin' tea, 
 I was so nervous I couldn't a sat another
 
 216 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 minute longer if I was to be killed. What do 
 you s'pose it means ? " 
 
 " It means," said Miss Marigold impres- 
 sively, "that no one is safe from that long 
 Bassett tongue. That's what it means." 
 
 " But do you s'pose she really did know 
 any thin' against Deacon Badger ? " asked the 
 little apple-faced woman anxiously. " It can't 
 be ; that good man couldn't a done any thin' 
 wrong or said any thin" out of the way. I should 
 as. soon think of Parson Whittaker as him." 
 
 "Don't you fret, Mis. Parsons," said the tall 
 woman composedly ; " it's a tempest in a tea- 
 pot, all brewed by that Mis. Bassett. Come, 
 now, we've come out to tackle the biscuit and 
 ham, and I move we do it." So she began to 
 lift the covers of the various baskets, and 
 unpin napkins, freely making comments as she 
 did so, calculated to draw off her companion's 
 attention from her worry. 
 
 " Mercy ! Mis. Folinsbee's brought some of 
 her hard old biscuit. I remember when she 
 had S'ciety last year, an' it seemed as if we 
 should break all our teeth on 'em." 
 
 " She's apt to get a hard bake," said little 
 Mrs. Parsons, only half attending.
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY BECOMES INVOLVED. 217 
 
 " Hard bake ! I sh'd think she was," replied 
 the tall woman. "Well, put a few on each 
 plate, Mis. Parsons, an' shove 'em well under. 
 Well under, you know ; that'll get rid of 'em 
 by degrees." 
 
 " An' Doctor Pilcher's awful aggravating" 
 said Mrs. Parsons absently, tying on a long 
 brown linen apron, and taking up the ham- 
 knife, "so I don't know as I should blame 
 the Deacon for speakin' up pretty sharp to 
 him." 
 
 " For pity's sake, Mis. Parsons," exclaimed the 
 tall woman, clapping to a basket cover, " do stop 
 while we get this tea! My head can't hold but 
 one idea at a time. I'll tell you one thing, 
 though, an' that's all I shall say to-night ; " and 
 she planted both hands firmly on the big table. 
 " No one knows any thin' about this business 
 but Judith Pettibone, and she won't tell ! " 
 
 " How'd you find that out ? " asked the little 
 apple-faced woman, staring in astonishment. 
 
 But Miss Marigold was deep in another relay 
 of immense tea-biscuits approaching small loaves 
 of bread in size, and was already halving and 
 buttering with an energy that was contagious, 
 and that presently involved her small companion ;
 
 218 THE PETT1BONE NAME. 
 
 especially as she saw that no answer would be 
 forthcoming if she repeated her question. 
 
 The fathers and husbands beginning to drop 
 into the " best room " for supper, brought out 
 into the kitchen the matrons detailed to make 
 the tea, cut the cake, and arrange the last things, 
 so that the lively bustle that ensued was wel- 
 comed on all hands as a good diversion that 
 afforded immense relief. 
 
 " Lucy," said Miss Judith in a low voice, detain- 
 ing for a quiet word or two the pink-cheeked young 
 girl, who, with a bright smile and a happy look for 
 all, now came in with Miriam Pettibone and some 
 other young girls of the parish, to "pass around the 
 tea," "is any one coming from your house to- 
 night ? " 
 
 "No," said Lucy in a surprised tone. "Great- 
 grandma has got a cold, an' grandma has to 
 stay with her." 
 
 Miss Judith needed to ask no other ques- 
 tion. She knew that the low state of Deacon 
 Badger's mind would not permit him to indulge 
 himself in any comfort such as could be ex- 
 tracted from a cup of the Society tea and two 
 or three of the Society doughnuts, interspersed
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY BECOMES INVOLVED. 219 
 
 with a harmless modicum of the Society talk, 
 until he should become reconciled to his brother. 
 So she breathed freer, and after a bright bit 
 of chat that drew the young girl into her heart 
 more than ever, Miss Judith hurried her off 
 with, 
 
 "There, go, dear, and see how nice and deft 
 a little waiter you can be ! " 
 
 Not all the impetus to the enjoyment of the 
 occasion, produced by the appearance of the 
 masculine portion of the Society, almost imme- 
 diately followed by the fragrant tea and gen- 
 erous eatables, could more than temporarily lift 
 the settled cloud that seemed to weigh down 
 the spirits of the company. Not even did the 
 entrance of the parson himself, who usually 
 found every one anxious to hold the ministerial 
 button-hole for as long a time as would be 
 allowed, make matters any better. It only 
 seemed to grow more constrained and unpleas- 
 ant than before, his advent stopping the con- 
 verse of those few persons who had braved 
 public opinion enough to creep away into cor- 
 ners, their heads together over their " suppose 
 so's," and "shouldn't thinks," concerning the 
 new topic, the minister's appearance being
 
 220 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 always the signal for private conversation to 
 merge into general sociability. 
 
 But this evening Mr. Whittaker talked 
 against, he instinctively felt, some preoccupation 
 of mind on the part of the feminine portion 
 of his parishioners. And as conversation under 
 such circumstances could not be very enjoyable, 
 he presently gave up trying, and, after a few 
 desultory remarks on the weather, he looked 
 helplessly at his good spouse, and waited for 
 her to do the rest. 
 
 "We ought not to stay late," said Mrs. Whit- 
 taker, catching the look, and turning to a 
 group of matrons ; " Mrs. Higgins isn't strong 
 enough." 
 
 "Sure enough," quickly acquiesced an old 
 lady, who, having some twinges of rheumatism, 
 was beginning to think of home and her com- 
 fortable bed. " Well, s'posin' you ask your hus- 
 band to lead us to the throne o' grace. 
 Jane" to her sister "where's your bag? I'll 
 put my knittin' in't." 
 
 The long prayer having been finished, in 
 which nobody in Christian or heathen lands 
 could be said to be forgotten, the assembly 
 began to show signs of breaking up. The old
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY BECOMES INVOLVED. 221 
 
 ladies who had slept through its petitions, now 
 wiped their eyes, declaring it so spiritual, and 
 roused themselves to gather up their big work- 
 bags, wherein reposed, with needle-book and 
 scissors, generous wedges of the various kinds 
 of cake passed around at supper-time. Along 
 with these were tucked in hopes of obtaining 
 the several receipts for the same ; hopes, it is 
 needless to say, that invariably came to naught, 
 each matron guarding jealously her own espe- 
 cial reputation for producing a cake that none 
 other could attain unto. This gave her a prom- 
 inence that filled her whole soul with pride, and 
 made life worth living. 
 
 " Huldy," said aunt Martha Gibson, the kind- 
 est old soul in the world, who had been known, 
 although the pink of neatness, to let flies revel in 
 her tidy home rather than have them killed, and 
 who' had refrained carefully from allowing her 
 lips to let fall any word relative to the scan- 
 dal set going in the "best room," "I can 
 skurcely pin my bunnet-strings. You'll hev to 
 do it, darter, I'm so all in a shake sence 
 that ere talk was begun." 
 
 Huldah, who was no fonder of gossip than
 
 222 THE PETT1BONE NAME. 
 
 her mother, darted over to the gorgeous pink- 
 and-white pin-cushion that adorned the bureau 
 of the " northwest corner bedroom " set apart 
 for the reception of cloaks and hoods when- 
 ever the Higgins' family had company. 
 
 " We'll hurry, ma, an' get off before the rest 
 come in," she said, returning with her pin. 
 " There ! " and she fastened the old lady's 
 bonnet-string as if she meant it to stay. 
 
 " 'Twas awful ! " said her mother, feeling per- 
 fectly safe now that she was alone with one 
 of her own family, in opening her mind a trifle, 
 " to set an' hear it ! O Huldy ! Deacon Badger 
 can never get over it in all this world." 
 
 " I'm afraid he can't," said Huldah, getting 
 another pin for herself. " There, ma, we're all 
 right now." And she rapidly inducted herself 
 into her outer garments, carrying a very sober 
 face meanwhile. 
 
 "No," said the old lady; "when a breath is 
 raised agin a good man like him, it don't down. 
 It's a gret deal wus than if he was wicked. 
 I'm afraid the Church'll hev to take it up ! " 
 
 Huldah passed out into the wide old hall and 
 waited for the old lady's slower footsteps, just as 
 Miriam Pettibone hurried past her into the big room.
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY BECOMES IN VOL VED. 223 
 
 "Lucy!" she called, looking eagerly around. 
 
 A little rustling noise made her seek for the 
 cause, and, guided by a faint "Here!" she 
 found her friend with her face pressed to the 
 wall, in the angle of the broad fireplace. 
 
 " What is the matter, Lucy ? Tell me ! tell 
 me ! " cried Miriam in affright, and trying to 
 turn her around. 
 
 "I was coming in," said the young girl 
 between her sobs, "to help them when I 
 heard such dreadful things about about 
 grandpa. Then I couldn't stir." 
 
 " Who said them ? " cried Miriam with flash- 
 ing eyes, and drawing up her slender figure. 
 "Tell me, Lucy! and do turn around and let 
 me see your face," she begged. 
 
 But Lucy, realizing that here was something 
 that even her best friend was powerless to 
 help, silently sobbed on. Suddenly she yielded 
 to Miriam's pleadings, and turned. It was only 
 to bound past her in uncontrollable grief as 
 she rushed out of the room, sorrow lending 
 swiftness to her young feet. Home, home, was all 
 her thought as on she sped, carrying into the 
 old Badger homestead the first breath of scan- 
 dal against its honored name.
 
 224 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 PARSON WHITTAKER. 
 
 THE Church didn't " take it up," as aunty 
 Gibson had feared, wisely considering 
 it the better course to ignore the whole affair. 
 But the church-members, individually, did, and, 
 according to his or her own particular preju- 
 dice, waged war with the tongue, upon the 
 two so unfortunately at variance. The greater 
 number, of course, swelled the Deacon's adher- 
 ents ; still there was a strong showing on the 
 little physician's side, for his skill had won 
 good friends sufficiently powerful to be feared. 
 Furthermore, the Deacon, who, in the inno- 
 cence of his soul, fondly believed that he had 
 not an enemy in the world, now awoke 
 to the fact that he had several. Men who had 
 through so many years witnessed his upright 
 life as a constant reproach to their own, now 
 that he was suddenly charged with a grievous
 
 PARSON WIIITTAKER. 225 
 
 backsliding, saw no reason for concealing their 
 satisfaction. They therefore came out boldly, 
 and helped the tide along against the Deacon's 
 good name. 
 
 Out of numerous consultations over ways and 
 means for bringing this unhappy misunder- 
 standing to a peaceful issue, the ministers of 
 the two parishes invariably came to the con- 
 clusion that, as matters were, any further inter- 
 ference would be disastrous. The people, there- 
 fore, seeing the dignitaries of the two churches 
 viewing the affair with calm indifference, took 
 the whole story into the privacy of their own 
 particular sets, where they rolled it over and 
 over to their hearts' content : A ball that had 
 grown to alarming proportions, by the fact that 
 Doctor Pilcher had acknowledged, in response 
 to the constant plying of questions, that Deacon 
 Badger had treated him as no man, let alone 
 a deacon, should treat another; then obstinately 
 refusing to furnish a bit of additional informa- 
 tion, the little physician wrapped himself in 
 grim silence, and let the gossip wag on. 
 
 Such a state of affairs bringing the Rever- 
 end Mr. Beebe over the hills frequently, he had 
 many opportunities to remember his promise to
 
 226 THE PETTIEONE NAME. 
 
 Bobby Jane, which he religiously kept. He not 
 only called on her once, but often, following 
 up his attentions in such a friendly way that 
 the child considered him her own especial 
 property, and accordingly claimed him on 
 every occasion that suited her fancy. And, 
 being very much impressed with his forlorn 
 state as regarded little girls, she straightway 
 adopted him into her own warm little heart, 
 sticking to her charge with the greatest per- 
 sistence. 
 
 Time flew very fast about these days, bounded 
 by weeks that were marked by Tom's letters, 
 or the getting ready a box for "the boy at 
 school." 
 
 Little Ira slipped into his brother's place up 
 at the parsonage, and two or three evenings a 
 week, when he much rather be playing games 
 with the rest of the merry crew in the old 
 kitchen, he would look dutifully up at the big 
 clock in the corner, and with a sigh reach down 
 his cap from its peg behind the door, gather up 
 his books, and trudge sturdily off down the hill. 
 The only thing that kept him at it was their 
 all saying : 
 
 "Tom's goin' to be a man, Ira."
 
 PAESON WHITTAKER. 227 
 
 That his brother should be a man, and he 
 not become one, was not to be thought of for 
 a single instant. So he kept at every lesson, 
 making Mr. Whittaker long for the former days 
 and the absent one more than ever the Israel- 
 ites mourned for their beloved flesh-pots. 
 
 "He's good, and he'll stick to it," said Miss 
 Judith, when the minister confided to her his 
 troubles. " He's got a great deal of pa's perse- 
 verance along with his name." 
 
 " Yes," inwardly groaned the minister ; " but, 
 Miss Judith," he asked, " do you know of any 
 other way in which I can make the lessons 
 interesting to the boy, so that he will love to 
 come ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! " exclaimed Miss Pettibone ; 
 " don't you worry about that, Mr. Whittaker. 
 That isn't Ira's way. If you tried your very 
 best, 'twouldn't please him a bit better. If he 
 once gets it into his head that he must study, 
 why, he'll stick to it through thick and thin, in 
 his slow way, without missing an evening." 
 
 The minister sighed, and went back to next 
 Sunday's sermon. 
 
 Those sermons that had stood the test of so 
 many years in his conscientious introspections,
 
 228 THE PETTIEONE NAME. 
 
 suddenly seemed to fail him. In a puzzled way, 
 he looked patiently for the reason. A revelation 
 of something lacking the power that wins men's 
 souls over to the right stood out before his 
 astonished vision with painful exactness. And 
 while he searched for the cause, it became more 
 and more distasteful to him to work out what 
 he now thought scarcely worth the putting down 
 on paper ; and he fell into the habit of calling 
 upon the minister from Franklin to help him 
 out by an exchange as often as was possible. So 
 the good people of Barkhamsted became accus- 
 tomed to seeing the Reverend Mr. Beebe in the 
 pulpit often, an adjustment of affairs that began 
 to be very agreeable to all the parishioners, 
 some of Mr. Whittaker's warmest friends, as he 
 reckoned them, wishing secretly that a perma- 
 nent exchange might be effected. 
 
 However, outwardly, every thing wagged on just 
 the same. The round of sermons on eternal 
 punishment, total depravity, and the doctrine of 
 election, finished their course, to be begun again 
 with unabated vigor, and the Reverend Adoniram 
 descended his pulpit stairs every Sunday with 
 a growing despondency over the deadness of his 
 people to spiritual things.
 
 PARSON WHITTAKER. 229 
 
 " I don't present the truth in the right way," 
 he said, pacing the long-suffering old study- 
 carpet one bright Saturday morning, and looking 
 over for sympathy to his friend, "else there 
 would be more interest in the saving of souls. 
 I've never had a revival since I came to this 
 place." 
 
 He made the confession in a shamefaced way, 
 and paused to hear the expression of surprise 
 he thought would follow. 
 
 " And you never will," said the Reverend Mr. 
 Beebe composedly, "as long as you look for it, 
 and make it the aim of your preaching." 
 
 " What ! " Mr. Whittaker turned squarely 
 around and gazed at his friend in the utmost 
 surprise. " Do you mean to say that we, as 
 servants of the Lord, are not to look and hope 
 for great things the harvest of many souls 
 gathered into the kingdom ? Why, the Word of 
 God expressly declares that we must so look and 
 hope." 
 
 " Yes; I do mean to say it," replied Mr. Beebe, 
 just as composedly as before, "when the looking 
 and hoping become so centred on the result, 
 as to lose sight of the steps on the way. I 
 think the Lord means, Adoniram, that our whole
 
 230 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 strength should be thrown into whatsoever we 
 do, or wheresoever we go, as a present duty, 
 without very much of the thought of the result 
 crowding upon our minds. I tell you, sermons 
 preached for a revival do more, I am convinced, 
 to hinder that good work than any other means 
 of grace misapplied can possibly achieve." 
 
 "What would you do?" asked Mr. Whit- 
 taker in a troubled voice. " It must be kept in 
 some way before the people, especially the grow- 
 ing portion of the congregation, else they will 
 think me cold in the matter that is of vital im- 
 portance, and, judging me cold and indifferent 
 in regard to it, will lose all interest in it them- 
 selves. And in the meantime, Hiram, souls are 
 dying around us every day." 
 
 He commenced to walk up and down again, 
 this time more rapidly, as his perturbation of 
 mind increased. 
 
 " Stop preaching at them, and preach the 
 Gospel." 
 
 His friend spoke concisely. 
 
 "Why, I do preach the Gospel!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Whittaker, in a manner so hurt, that, if there 
 had not been considerable indignation under- 
 lying the words, his friend would have been
 
 PARSON WUITTAKER. 231 
 
 troubled at once. As it was, the indignation 
 saved him from needless worry. 
 
 "I grow sounder in doctrine every year," pur- 
 sued Mr. Whittaker ; " I know that myself. A 
 man can tell when he is growing, Hiram. I can 
 handle a theological discussion, and trace the 
 argument, with a clearer spiritual discernment 
 than ever before. And yet He stopped at 
 the barrier that had cost him many sleepless 
 nights and anxious days. 
 
 "And yet," repeated his friend, taking it 
 up and going rapidly on in direct, simple sen- 
 tences, " that is just as far as you will ever go 
 until you come down from this height from which 
 you preach at your congregation. Preach Christ. 
 Forget all about your longing for a revival. 
 Preach Christ and him crucified. Forget all 
 about yourself. If you have but one sermon to 
 write if you knew it was to be your last in 
 which you could have an opportunity to reach 
 a single soul let it be Christ ! Christ ! Christ 
 all through it." 
 
 There was a stillness in the old study for some 
 moments. Then Mr. Whittaker came up to the 
 Reverend Mr. Beebe's chair, and put his hand on 
 his shoulder.
 
 232 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " In all your goodness to me, Hiram," he 
 said brokenly, " you have never done what you 
 have for my soul this morning. Now let me be 
 alone with God till he shows me my mistake." 
 
 Mr. Beebe silently took his hat and went back 
 over the hill to his study, where he wrestled in 
 prayer for his friend and for his growth in 
 grace, that, in pointing others to the light, he 
 might lose himself in Christ. 
 
 The following Sabbath morning there was a 
 large congregation present, there having been, 
 in some unexplainable way, a report started that 
 the Reverend Mr. Beebe of Franklin was to preach. 
 
 Accordingly, when their pastor walked up 
 the aisle, there were some disappointed looks 
 exchanged, and many nudges from the younger 
 portion of the congregation. He saw nothing 
 of all this, but, with bent head, kept steadily 
 on his way up the old pulpit stairs, and 
 quietly sat down, covering his face with his 
 hand. 
 
 The choir was more elaborate in its efforts 
 than usual, monopolizing a large amount of the 
 time devoted to the opening exercises, and 
 then the pastor rose to pray. The first few 
 words uttered, many good, devout Christians
 
 PAESON WHITTAKEK. 233 
 
 as they were raised their heads involuntarily, 
 to stare up into the pulpit at the one who 
 was leading them in prayer. 
 
 As if not a soul were present between him- 
 self and his God, this man was pouring out 
 his whole heart in one earnest supplication for 
 the descent of the Spirit, as the gift of all 
 gifts. 
 
 " He wist not that his face shone ; " he 
 thought nothing of the effect upon those who 
 sat below to hear his words ; he only felt that 
 unto him was given one more opportunity to 
 prevail with God for the souls under his charge. 
 
 The stillness as the people sat back in their 
 seats to listen to the sermon, was deep and 
 almost oppressive. 
 
 But Mr. Whittaker, instead of opening the 
 big Bible to give out the text as usual, stopped 
 and looked over the old church with a gaze 
 that had in it much of affection, more of an 
 earnest purpose. 
 
 A pin dropped could have easily been heard, 
 the stillness was so profound as the pastor 
 said : 
 
 " My friends, I have something to say to 
 you to-day before I can give to you the mes-
 
 234 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 sage from God. He demands that I shall 
 tell it to you what he has done for my soul. 
 
 "He has come to me how, it matters not 
 with a gracious revelation of his mercy and 
 love. Mercy, in that he permits me' to stand 
 in this sacred desk to-day to tell you this ; 
 and love, that he could so far forgive the 
 narrowness and the ignorance that have gone 
 on striving to lead, when my own soul was 
 blind to the rich fullness of the truth in 
 Christ Jesus. My friends, I have made a 
 mistake. I have starved your souls when I 
 might have been filling them with the satisfy- 
 ing food that only comes as a soul is near 
 enough to the hand of the Lord to receive it. 
 I have wasted, and worse than wasted, the 
 precious time of many Sabbaths, in specula- 
 tions over God's word ; in the unfolding of 
 some doctrine in the sermon, worked out, as 
 I vainly thought, of a heart true to its Maker. 
 
 " I have led you all blindly where I might 
 have pointed to the light. I have been feed- 
 ing you dry husks instead of the bread of 
 life. I have given to you empty words instead 
 of living, scintillating messages in the spirit of 
 Christ.
 
 PARSON WHITTAKER. 235 
 
 "I ask you to forgive me as God has for- 
 given me, and to begin with me a new and 
 better life. Hereafter, whatever I give to you 
 from this pulpit, it shall be as Christ speaks 
 to my own soul ; for to know him, and to 
 preach him crucified, is all I ask." 
 
 He opened the big Bible and gave out the 
 text ; but few could have told what it was. 
 
 All over the old church, the emotion that 
 had been stirred was sweeping the whole 
 assembly as a breath from the Lord. Eyes 
 that had been unaccustomed to weep were 
 suffused with tears ; faces, whose hard lines 
 showed what a battle life had been to them in 
 that rugged hill-town, were working convul- 
 sively to conceal the feeling beneath. They 
 only knew that he spoke with a simple 
 directness, as from the Master ; that he gave 
 to them such a rich revelation of the all- 
 absorbing love that yearned over them, that it 
 was as if they heard the Gospel for the first 
 time in their lives that morning. 
 
 When the last words of the benediction fell 
 from his lips, the congregation stole out 
 silently, without waiting, as was their habit, to 
 interchange greetings and bits of gossip with
 
 236 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 each other. The little children who were to 
 wait through the intermission till the Sabbath- 
 school began, and those who lived too far to 
 make the journey to their homes and return 
 for the afternoon services, sat quietly in little 
 groups of twos or threes, with sober faces, 
 and hearts hushed by the unwonted solemnity 
 brooding over the old church. 
 
 One and another of the older members, with 
 that reticence inborn in the fine New-England 
 nature, grasped their pastor's hand silently as he 
 passed out. But the pressure spoke more than 
 words ; and the light over the honest faces was 
 enough. Old aunty Gibson ejaculated, "Praise 
 the Lord ! " and trembled with delight as she 
 sat waiting in her large square pew for the after- 
 noon service to begin. 
 
 The young people having commenced, since 
 they found, as they expressed it, " Mr. Whittaker 
 is getting a little dull, " to stay at home of a 
 Sunday afternoon, it was an unusual sight to 
 see at this particular service every available seat 
 filled with earnest, serious people listening 
 eagerly to the voice of the Lord as if for the 
 first time. Many were visibly affected beyond 
 concealment from their neighbors. The sound
 
 PARSON WHITTAKER. 237 
 
 of sobs went around from pew to pew, while 
 the little ones gazed wonderingly on it all. 
 
 " There will be a meeting for prayer in this 
 house, this evening," the pastor said in con- 
 clusion, "where I hope we shall all meet 
 God." And the large assembly went to their 
 houses. 
 
 There was no need to ring the bell for even- 
 ing service. No need to ask any one to pray, 
 to fill up long, painful pauses. No need to 
 urge men to look to God, for the eyes of all, 
 young and old, were turned to the Cross, while 
 their hearts cried out : " What shall we do to 
 be saved ? " 
 
 Many rose for prayers that night. Job Titus, 
 who never had been known to pray, got up, 
 and raising himself to his tall height, said : 
 " I've been a disbeliever alwus ; but if the 
 Lord'll forgive me, I'll serve him the rest of 
 my life. " And Silas Folinsbee, who hadn't 
 been inside of a prayer-meeting within the mem- 
 ory of the oldest inhabitant, said, in a trem- 
 bling voice, from his seat, " Pray for me. " 
 
 Fathers wept with joy to see their children 
 brought into the realization of a craving in 
 their hearts for a new and better life. Hus-
 
 238 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 bands and wives rejoiced together over the 
 chasm that had divided them now filled by 
 the love of God. 
 
 Meetings were appointed for the week, 
 
 t 
 
 some in the church and others in the school- 
 houses of the different districts. No need to 
 ask the people to attend. The notice simply 
 was given out. 
 
 All the next day Miriam avoided any con- 
 versation with her aunt. Up and down the 
 crooked stairs she tripped, merrier than usual, 
 with a scrap of a song on her lips, or a light 
 laugh. Always helpful, she tried more than 
 ever to anticipate any little want that Miss 
 Judith might be supposed to have ; but as for 
 talking, or meeting her eye, some slight pre- 
 text would make her fly out of the room 
 whenever she fancied what she dreaded was 
 coming. 
 
 She needn't have troubled herself, however, 
 for nothing was further from Miss Judith's 
 mind, than any spoken interference with the 
 still, small voice in the young girl's heart. 
 
 Miss Scarritt, however, did not so read the 
 mind of the Lord. He seemed to tell her to 
 speak, and she watched for a chance to do
 
 PARSON WHITTAKER. 239 
 
 her duty with a vigilance worthy to be coupled 
 with a larger degree of wisdom. Darting out 
 from the pantry or the little kitchen whenever 
 she heard the light foot on the stairs, or 
 through the hall, she would " Hem ! oh, 
 Miriam ! " only to find that she was talking to 
 silent walls. 
 
 At last she cornered her in the little back 
 entry, where it was impossible to pass each 
 other, unless both were inclined to accommo- 
 date and make room. Besides, Miriam had 
 a large pitcher of water in her hand, and was 
 more occupied in a careful watching of her 
 steps than the guard she had preserved over 
 the enemy's movements. 
 
 "Miriam," said little Miss Scarritt in an 
 awful whisper, while her little eyes roved 
 anxiously all over the young face, " I'm con- 
 cerned for you ! Why don't you come out on 
 the Lord's side ? Don't you know if this 
 revival goes by, you may never get brought 
 into the kingdom ? " 
 
 All the rosy flush dying out to extreme 
 paleness ought to have warned her, if the 
 indignant blue eyes, roused out of their habitual 
 gentleness, did not. But the little dressmaker,
 
 240 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 intent on doing ' her whole duty, and " speak- 
 ing for the Lord " boldly, saw nothing, and 
 essayed again : 
 
 "We're all a watchin' you, an' expectin' you 
 to come forward." 
 
 " Let me alone ! " came in one burst ; but 
 that was enough. 
 
 Little Miss Scarritt skipped to one side, to 
 see a dissolving view of the young girl's figure 
 along the hall ; and then Miss Judith's door 
 shut smartly with a loud clap. 
 
 " How did she dare ! " cried Miriam, her 
 cheeks all aflame, and her eyes flashing. And 
 she set down her pitcher on the table with 
 force that proved its strength, and threw out 
 a good share of the contents. 
 
 Miss Judith looked up quickly. 
 
 "Miriam," she said, "don't try to tell now. 
 Take time to think." 
 
 "O aunt Judith aunt Judith!" cried the 
 girl, all her heart in her voice. And, rushing 
 across the room, she threw herself on the floor, 
 and laid her head in the lap that had shel- 
 tered so many careless hours of her childhood, 
 now the refuge in her first knowledge of her 
 soul-cravings.
 
 PARSON WHITTAKER. 241 
 
 Aunt Judith's only answer was a gentle pass- 
 ing of the firm hand over the bowed head. 
 
 " I don't know what to do," sobbed the 
 muffled voice. " I've been so wretched all day 
 and then she began at me." 
 
 "I know, dear;" aunt Judith was praying 
 for words or silence just what the Lord would 
 have. 
 
 "And I don't believe I'll ever be saved now." 
 
 The voice had something so inexpressibly sad, 
 beyond the words, ringing through it, that 
 aunt Judith could no longer keep still. 
 
 Miriam," she said, holding her close, "do 
 you doubt your Maker ? " 
 
 N-no," came faintly in the midst of sobs ; 
 "only" 
 
 "Only what?" asked aunt Judith, with a 
 prayer for wisdom. 
 
 "I don't know what I do want," cried the 
 girl. Then the sobs grew very faint, till they 
 ceased altogether. 
 
 "Aunt Judith," she said timidly, "do you 
 think the Lord will let me come as far as 
 I can and help me to love him more?" 
 
 "I think he will," said aunt Judith solemnly. 
 
 "Then I will come!" cried Miriam, lifting a
 
 2J2 THE PETTinOXE NAME. 
 
 face so radiantly joyful that aunt Judith saw 
 the work was done. " I thought I'd got to 
 wait until I could say that I loved him more 
 than every thing else in the whole world. I 
 knew I didn't not more than I loved father 
 and mother, and you and Tom and the rest. 
 And I thought it was wicked to ask him any 
 thing, until I could say that I loved him best; 
 and so I didn't dare to pray. But if he will 
 help me O aunt Judy!" 
 
 She clasped her neck with young, strong 
 arms, and laid her face against the tender, 
 sympathizing bosom, while she kept repeating 
 over and over, " O aunt Judy ! " 
 
 "Are you very sure that you do not love 
 him best ? " asked Miss Judith after a pause. 
 " Would you give him up, Miriam ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " "The young girl looked straight into 
 the eyes that sought her own so lovingly. 
 " Never, aunt Judith ! I would give up every 
 thing in this world to be his ! " 
 
 " Will you believe him if he tells you that 
 you are his, Miriam ? " asked her aunt search- 
 ingly. 
 
 "If he tells me so; yes." 
 
 Aunt Judith took her hand, and, leading her
 
 PARSON WHITTAKER. 243 
 
 over to the big bed, knelt down with her by 
 its side. 
 
 "Give, O Lord," she prayed, "such a reve- 
 lation to this child of thine all-sufficient love 
 that she shall not stop to question her love to 
 thee, but shall gladly surrender herself to that 
 love, to be saved by the blood of Christ. Show 
 her thy power ; that thou hast accepted her, 
 telling her to take this new life, and obey 
 Thee by believing it has been already begun 
 in her heart. For Christ's sake. Amen." 
 
 Miriam raised her face from the bed where 
 she had buried it. The Lord had claimed his 
 own, and marked her with his peace.
 
 244 THE PETTIBOXE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE GOOD WORK GOES ON. 
 
 MEETINGS for prayer were continued 
 through the weeks that followed, with 
 no abatement of interest. The whole commu- 
 nity was aroused ; and, too many in number 
 for the conference-room, the people thronged 
 into the old church with anxious, determined 
 faces that spoke of souls awakened to their 
 duty. 
 
 The meetings that began in earnest, humble 
 supplications, now had sounding through them 
 the note of praise out of glad hearts and 
 voices. For from almost every household had 
 one or more been snatched as brands from 
 the fire and marked by the Lord as his loving 
 friends. 
 
 Young and old, rich and poor, prominent and 
 humble thay had all come from their different 
 homes in that old hill-town to testify before
 
 THE GOOD WORK GOES ON. 245 
 
 any who might hear, of their love for their 
 Saviour ; of their resolve to follow henceforth 
 in the way he should lead. 
 
 It had ceased to be a surprise now when 
 any one, even if heretofore regarded as a hope- 
 less case, arose to tremblingly ask for prayers, 
 or to announce in glad, grateful words, that 
 the work was done. No matter who found 
 their feet to testify boldly for Christ, God- 
 speeds in every thankful breast were unmixed 
 with wonder. 
 
 Many young souls were brought within the 
 fold at this blessed time, rilling the heart of 
 the good pastor who had yearned over them, 
 and would not let them go, with the deepest 
 gratitude. And as he thought how much, by 
 thus coming early, they were saved life-long 
 regret for the loss of active service in the 
 glorious cause, he could not restrain himself, 
 but gave them such a glimpse of his sympathy 
 and love as they had never dreamed existed. 
 And the young people flocked to inquire the 
 way of life. 
 
 It occasioned no surprise, therefore, when 
 Miriam Pettibone, slender and fair, stood up in 
 her seat one evening, and, with a glad voice,
 
 246 THE PETT1BONE NAME. 
 
 in simple language declared her love for her 
 Saviour. And Deacon Badger covered his face, 
 that no one but the Lord might be witness to 
 his first joy, when his granddaughter Lucy fol- 
 lowed his Lucy, gentle and lovely, now accept- 
 ing the grace that alone could make her beau- 
 tiful, and enrolling herself a child of God. 
 
 If the people had ever wearied of their pas- 
 tor's ministrations, they eagerly hung upon his 
 lips now. If they had forgotten somewhat their 
 first love, they simply reverenced him now, 
 and could not show him their love enough. But 
 he went around among them in simple fashion 
 with his eye fixed on the Cross, and his 
 heart full of Christ so that he felt neither 
 weary nor self-conscious in the labors devolving 
 upon him. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Beebe came over often to 
 help him as the weeks swept by, for those who 
 had set their faces heavenward now wanted to 
 have their hands employed for their Master. 
 Like little children, many came, who were old 
 and gray-headed in ways of unbelief and sin, 
 begging in touching accents that they might 
 have some chance to work for God while yet 
 any time remained to them on earth. Young
 
 THE GOOD WORK GOES ON. 247 
 
 men and women were to be interested in the 
 beginning of their Christian course, and leave 
 no place where the tempter could creep in 
 through unoccupied hands. It required a wise 
 judgment and much tact, to mete out to each 
 the portions in the good work ; to stimulate 
 some, to restrain others, to encourage all. But 
 the baptism of the Spirit upon .the heart of the 
 pastor, left unsupplied no needed grace for his 
 difficult work. 
 
 Miriam at once presented herself in her pas- 
 tor's study, with a heart full of longing to show 
 her love to her Saviour in active work, no matter 
 what, no matter where, if only the right work 
 should be pointed out as hers to take up. 
 
 She seemed to have grown suddenly from a 
 child to a woman. Always thoughtful and ma- 
 ture, she now gave evidence of a suddenly 
 developed power, that made her valuable as a 
 Christian helper and leader to all her young 
 friends. 
 
 " My child, you must go into the Sunday- 
 school as a teacher," said Mr. Whittaker ear- 
 nestly ; " there is that class of boys from the 
 South Farm's district : that is the very place 
 for you."
 
 248 THE PETTIBOXE NAME. 
 
 " I will take it," said Miriam, soberly weighing 
 all the responsibility, but with never a thought 
 after that question was settled, of refusing. 
 
 "And we must find more work for her to 
 do," said the minister, with a glad smile to the 
 Reverend Mr. Beebe who had come over for 
 an hour or two of assistance. " For, Miriam," 
 he said, turning back to her, "a heart as full 
 of joy as yours, will consecrate every power to 
 your Master." 
 
 " There are the old ladies at the Poor-farm," 
 said Mr. Beebe in a low voice. " I only throw 
 it out as a suggestion ; perhaps you won't 
 approve." 
 
 "Just the thing," said Mr. Whittaker thank- 
 fully. " Miriam, here is blessed work for you, 
 to minister to those poor souls up there on 
 Beacon Hill. You can go out there as often as 
 you like, and sing your hymns, that now will 
 be sung with Spirit to the Lord, and read and 
 pray. Take some of your young friends with 
 you. You can do twice as much good as I can, 
 whom they see so often. Fresh young Chris- 
 tians will be very messengers of mercy up 
 there." 
 
 "I should like to," said Miriam, with kin-
 
 THE GOOD WORK GOES ON. 249 
 
 dling eyes, " oh, so much, Mr. Whittaker ! I 
 thought of those old ladies, but I didn't know 
 as you would think I was fit to teacr? them," 
 she added humbly. 
 
 " Any soul taught as yours has been, my 
 child," said her pastor solemnly, " can go there 
 gladly with the message." 
 
 And so Miriam put all her young soul into 
 the work that now engaged her time and 
 thought, and with the development of her 
 Christian graces, and faculties for the work of 
 the Lord's kingdom, came a rapid unfolding 
 of all her mental powers as well. So much so, 
 that her father and mother and aunt Judith 
 looked on and wondered. 
 
 It seemed such a blessed work for her young 
 strength. And she entered into it so gladly, 
 keeping all her fresh, unconscious youth, with 
 the added dignity of Christian womanhood. 
 
 Tom's letters were full of an overflowing 
 gladness that welcomed this dearly-loved sister 
 to a newer sympathy and love. For the boy 
 had, with sturdy, whole-souled aim, endeavored 
 to live as a boy should who fears God. 
 
 He didn't say much about his trials, but
 
 250 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 aunt Judith looking closely through the letters, 
 read between the lines and detected the longing 
 for home and home sympathy. And from little 
 things dropped here and there in the midst 
 of the boyish scrawls, there peeped out hints 
 of the hard times he was having over his two 
 promises. 
 
 "But I kept them, aunt Judith," he declared 
 on one of his vacations ; " yes, I did ! " And 
 his blue eyes flashed with boyish enthusiasm 
 and boyish triumph. 
 
 Aside from that avowal, Tom did not in- 
 cline to talk further upon the subject, only 
 there was an added tenderness in his manner 
 toward his aunt an oftener seeking her soci- 
 ety. 
 
 Each time that he went back to school, Miss 
 Judith saw something of a new purpose to 
 which his strong, self-reliant nature was devoted. 
 A purpose to waste neither the time nor 
 money expended, in the achievement of an 
 education. 
 
 "Beats all how Tom does study," said his 
 father proudly, on one of these occasions. " I 
 have to tell him to give us some of his time ; 
 for he's brought home his boo u s, for a look
 
 THE GOOD WORK GOES ON. 251 
 
 now and then, he says. I'm afraid he'll know 
 too much." 
 
 " Don't you worry, brother," said Miss Judith 
 composedly. "As long as Tom is in such 
 perfect health, and plays as heartily as he works, 
 there isn't much to be over-troubled about. 
 He'll need every bit of the education he's 
 getting ; for the world has moved on some 
 since you and I were young, John." 
 
 " I suppose so," said Mr. John Pettibone, who 
 wouldn't have had him stop for any thing. 
 "Well, I'm glad to have father's money used 
 in that way. For if it hadn't been for that, 
 the boy would never have had the chance." 
 
 "I am glad, too," said Miss Judith simply. 
 "If it hadn't been!" rang through and through 
 her heart. "If it hadn't been!" 
 
 And she often looked up to the old home- 
 stead on the hill, rilled with merry, loving 
 and lovable children who came very near being 
 bitter and wretched in the poverty of the 
 little tucked-up house down in the valley, and 
 said, down deep in her heart : " Pa gives it all 
 his blessing!" While the old-fashioned portrait 
 that now hung over her little low mantel in 
 the widow Scarritt's humble home, seemed to
 
 252 THE PETTIEONE NAME. 
 
 brood over her and her life with a tenderness 
 almost divine. 
 
 One morning she was thinking it all over, 
 a happy feeling at heart, and a tender- smile 
 playing around her lips, when little Miss 
 Scarritt rushed in with consternation on every 
 feature. 
 
 "Judith," she cried, "it's no use! Now, I 
 hope that man is satisfied ! " she exclaimed, 
 sinking tragically into the first chair she could 
 find. " Why don't you say something ? " she 
 asked impatiently. 
 
 " Because I am waiting to be told what to 
 say," replied Miss Judith smilingly. " It's 
 coming ; I see it almost trembling on your 
 lips. Now, then, Samantha!" 
 
 " I'm so angry at Doctor Pilcher," cried the 
 little dressmaker in a gust. "Well, he'll have 
 to suffer in his mind to the end of his days, 
 to pay for it. To think of losin' Deacon Badger, 
 Ju-" 
 
 " Samantha, what do you mean ? " exclaimed 
 Miss Judith, starting from her chair to seize 
 her friend's arm. 
 
 " Why, Deacon Badger's sick, " said Miss 
 Scarritt. "Of course you couldn't expect him
 
 THE GOOD WORK GOES ON. . 253 
 
 to hold out forever, worried an' tormented to 
 death as he's been. An' Mr. Folinsbee's down- 
 stairs ; he's come after you. He stepped in 
 there, an' they sent him right over. That's 
 what I've come up for, to tell you. " 
 
 The little dressmaker was saying the con- 
 cluding sentences to the walls and the furni- 
 ture, Miss Judith being rapidly on her way 
 toward the sound of voices in the keeping- 
 room. 
 
 "As I was saying hem! it's the awfullest 
 fix, for Doctor Pilcher, of course, won't come, 
 an' there ain't no other doctor nigher'n Free- 
 burg, an' O Miss Pet'bone, how d'ye do ? " 
 
 " Deacon Badger's sick, " said the little 
 widow, distress and animation contending for 
 possession of her withered face. "Jest as I 
 thought 'twould be, Judith. I'm glad he's so 
 forehanded he can lay by an' be sick ; but it's 
 a dretful thing to go down to the grave havin' 
 folks say you swore, an' " 
 
 " They sent you for me, Mr. Folinsbee ? '' 
 asked Miss Judith quickly, interrupting the 
 stream. 
 
 "They said you was to come's quick as you 
 could, " said Mr. Folinsbee from his perch on
 
 254 THE PETTinONE XAME. 
 
 the extreme edge of a stiff hair-cloth chair, to 
 which he was clinging for support in his ex- 
 citement over Mrs. Scarritt's funereal words. 
 " I don't b'lieve he's goin' to die, " he added, 
 gaining a little strength. 
 
 " You can't never tell, " said Mrs. Scarritt 
 impressively ; " when a man of his age is took, 
 it's apt to go bad with him. " 
 
 Mr. Folinsbee, his temporary relief gone, 
 now had no words to offer; but, as if fully 
 expecting by right of age his own name to 
 be called next, he sat in silent misery. 
 
 " I'll get my things and be over directly, " 
 said Miss Judith. 
 
 "Here's your bonnet, " said Miss Scarritt at 
 her elbow, " an' your shawl ; I brought 'em 
 down. There now, go along, an' be the com- 
 fort that only you can be, Judith. " She almost 
 thrust her from the room, giving two or three 
 pats to express what she couldn't speak. 
 
 While all this was proceeding in the keep- 
 ing-room, there was a small agitation in the 
 diminutive flower-bed by the side of the lilac 
 bushes and just beneath the high, old-fashioned 
 windows. An agitation that presently resolved
 
 THE GOOD WORK GOES ON. 255 
 
 itself into perfect quiet, only interrupted by a 
 deal of hard breathing as certain plans came 
 .to maturity in the depths of an extremely fer- 
 tile brain. 
 
 " Well ! " Bobby Jane gathered herself up 
 from the damp ground where she had been 
 grubbing in a delicious sense of freedom, and 
 wiping her grimy little hands on her pink 
 calico apron two or three times, she cast a 
 loving glance on a mangy stick adorned with 
 a few leaves at the top, that she had, with 
 praiseworthy diligence, finally persuaded to 
 stand upright in the very centre of Miss 
 Samantha's small collection of flowers. Then 
 she gave a decisive nod to her stubby head 
 and started for the brown gate. 
 
 " I know every speck of the way, " she said 
 to herself, turning down the dusty road, "just 
 as easy as not. " 
 
 Trudge, trudge ! Strange to say, nobody hap- 
 pened along just then, so Bobby Jane pur- 
 sued her reflections and her course according 
 to her own sweet will, pattering on, the strings 
 of her small shoes trailing off dismally in the 
 rear, somewhat impeding locomotion. However, 
 as she was accustomed to such slight hindrances,
 
 256 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 she kept, on stolidly, beguiling the tedium of 
 the way with scraps of conversation, which, for 
 want of a better listener, she held with her- 
 self. 
 
 " My good, nice Deacon Badger shan't die ! " 
 she exclaimed energetically, and switching off 
 the tops of all the daisies that came in her 
 way. "An' Doctor Pilcher shall come an' cure 
 him, same's he did me ; so there ! I'll go for 
 him myself. " 
 
 By this time she had made a fine distance, 
 and presently turning another corner, which, 
 fortunately for her, happened to be the right 
 one, she struck out briskly for Franklin. And 
 now she kept a bright outlook for all kinds 
 of travellers, her sharp little eyes serving her 
 a good turn as faithful watchmen. At sight 
 of any thing movable along the highway, she 
 would, as usual in like emergencies, hop nim- 
 bly over the wayside fence, or behind some 
 kind, protecting bush, until she could resume 
 her expedition with no danger of being sent 
 back. And so with delightful emotions swell- 
 ing her small breast, Bobby Jane trudged on 
 to victory.
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FROXT. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT. 
 
 MIRIAM sat by the window, busy with her 
 sewing, her mind and heart full of 
 Deacon Badger. A voice outside roused her. 
 
 " Send Bobby Jane home ! " it called. " Mother 
 wants her." 
 
 Miriam dropped the ruffle with its fine cam- 
 bric needle hanging to it, to put out her head 
 with its shining waves of soft hair. 
 
 It was Ira. 
 
 " Why, Bobby Jane isn't here," she said in 
 gentle surprise. " I haven't seen her all this 
 morning." 
 
 " Oh yes, you have ! " replied Ira stoutly, not 
 in the least meaning to contradict, only having 
 once become possessed of an idea, it remained 
 in his mind, being uprooted only by superhu- 
 man effort. "She came over here about two 
 hours ago with a flower she said she was going
 
 258 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 to plant as a surprise for aunt Judy, and now 
 mother wants her." 
 
 " Well, I haven't seen her to-day," said 
 Miriam. " Don't be worried, Ira. I guess she's 
 run down to Deacon Badger's. You know he's 
 very sick, and they've sent for aunt Judith, 
 and maybe Bobby Jane saw her go and fol- 
 lowed along." 
 
 " Well, I'll go there too, then," said Ira 
 faithfully, " 'cause mother wants her." 
 
 Miriam nodded and smiled to the stout little 
 figure as long as it was in sight, then took 
 in her head, and fell to sewing again. 
 
 But presently Ira came running back breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 "She ain't there oh no, she ain't!" he 
 shouted under the window, in the extremest 
 consternation. "An' mother wants her." 
 
 This time Miriam threw aside her work and 
 ran down-stairs. 
 
 "An* aunt Judy says you an' I are to look 
 all 'around here," he panted, " carefully. That's 
 what she said, for Bobby Jane may have got 
 into trouble." 
 
 " Very well," said Miriam, more startled than 
 she cared to have her little brother see ; " you
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT. 259 
 
 take the woodshed and the orchard, and I'll 
 look all around here. But, in the first place, 
 I'll ask Mrs. Scarritt if she has seen her this 
 morning." 
 
 A careful interviewing of the little widow 
 failed of any comfort, 
 
 " I hain't cast an eye on her this mortal 
 morning," she said decidedly, looking up from 
 the pan of beans she was shelling; "an* it's 
 been a long time sence I could say that." 
 
 Miriam, feeling that it was now high time 
 to be expeditious, flew over to the neighbors, 
 making inquiries as she went of everybody she 
 met. No one had seen Bobby Jane. 
 
 Ira came back from his search crying. 
 
 "We will run over home," said Miriam, wip- 
 ing off the tears from their dismal race down 
 the chubby cheeks. " Dear me, Ira, don't cry ! 
 I shouldn't be surprised if Bobby Jane had gone 
 home first, and should come out to laugh at 
 us." 
 
 But the stream of Ira's woe flowed on with- 
 out interruption, as Miriam took his hand and 
 together they went rapidly homeward. 
 
 Bobby Jane not being there, could not very 
 well " come out and laugh " at them ; and in
 
 200 THE PETT1BONE NAME. 
 
 five minutes the little distracted mother and 
 the wailing children were flying hither and 
 thither, hunting wherever there was the least 
 hope of finding the stray child. 
 
 It soon became noised abroad that " Bobby 
 Jane Pettibone was lost." Everybody lent a 
 helping hand in the search, and turned out in 
 generous numbers, ransacking all places near 
 and far wherever she would be likely to hide. 
 
 Just at this time a very tired, and thor- 
 oughly demoralized little figure, who, by dint 
 of persistent inquiries along the way for "Doctor 
 Pilcher's house," had at last stumbled on to her 
 destination, and turned in at the old carriage- 
 drive leading up to the physician's back door. 
 
 A cross old woman who stood by the well, 
 engaged in drawing up a bucket, said sharply, 
 " If you want the Doctor, as I s'pose you do, 
 go 'round to the green door in front." 
 
 " Yes," said Bobby Jane, " I do want the 
 Doctor." 
 
 So she dragged her dusty little shoes slowly 
 around the house, until they carried her to 
 the place directed. 
 
 Her vigorous raps soon brought, much to 
 her delight, Doctor Pilcher himself, who, fail-
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT. 261 
 
 ing to recognize his quondam patient in her 
 present plight, bade her come into his office 
 a queer little room with funny old furniture, 
 but presenting only one idea to Bobby Jane's 
 mind. She saw nothing but the long shelves 
 reaching up to the ceiling on two sides of the 
 small room, filled as far as her eyes could 
 compass, with bottles of various sizes and 
 shapes. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Bobby Jane. 
 
 And forgetting her errand and her tired 
 condition, she sank down on the broad, chintz- 
 covered sofa, and gazed to her heart's con- 
 tent. 
 
 " Who sent you ? " asked the Doctor abruptly, 
 and bustling around for his medicine-case. 
 
 Bobby Jane, at this recalled to the impor- 
 tance of her position, tore off her gaze from the 
 fascinating bottles. " No one, " she said, fasten- 
 ing her black eyes on the Doctor's face. 
 
 " Didn't anybody send you ? " asked Doctor 
 Pilcher, whirling around on her in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "No, sir," said Bobby Jane, swinging her tired 
 feet, that now began to ache terribly ; " I came 
 al-1 alone, I did, a purpose to see you, " draw-
 
 262 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 ing herself up to defend the honor of her posi- 
 tion as originator of the expedition. 
 
 " Oh, you did, " said the little Doctor ; " well, 
 I suppose you have a sore throat or something 
 of that sort. Come here, child, and let me look 
 down. " 
 
 " Oh no, I haven't, either ! " declared Bobby 
 Jane indignantly, who always regarded any 
 allusion to a weak state of health as a per- 
 sonal insult. " I haven't got nothing at all 
 not a single thing; I came to see you!" 
 
 " Bless me ! " ejaculated Doctor Pilcher. 
 Nevertheless he was greatly pleased, the audac- 
 ity of the thing capturing him at once. That 
 he, whom all children let severely alone, should 
 be sought out in this winning way, presented 
 all the charms of a new idea, and a genial 
 smile beamed from every line of his face. 
 " So, so," he cried, unable to conceal his 
 satisfaction ; " well, if that is the case, I sup- 
 pose I must set to work to entertain you. 
 Hey ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Bobby Jane, who didn't know 
 in the least what " entertain " meant ; but 
 presuming from his social manner that some- 
 thing pleasant was contemplated, she repeated
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT. 263 
 
 /' Yes," at the same time giving a restful 
 stretch of her weary little frame over the old 
 chintz sofa. 
 
 " And I can't think of any thing better for 
 a tired little girl than cookies," exclaimed 
 the little Doctor in his gayest fashion. 
 
 At the word cookies Bobby Jane sat 
 straight up. Here was something she could 
 understand. " Oh yes," she cried, with a laugh 
 of glee; "I like them." And clasping her small 
 hands, " Yes, yes, do give me some, please ! " 
 
 " So I thought," said Doctor Pilcher with a 
 nod. And stepping to the door he called 
 loudly : " Mrs. Johnson, a plate of cookies 
 this way." 
 
 The sour-faced woman presently appearing 
 with the article called for, which she slammed 
 down on the office table, muttering something 
 about " not goin' to kill herself bakin' for 
 children," Doctor Pilcher put into the pink 
 apron such a liberal supply as afforded his 
 small visitor intense delight. 
 
 " So you came to see me ? " repeated the 
 little man, standing off to watch her eat, with 
 the greatest satisfaction. 
 
 Bobby Jane, whose pangs of hunger were
 
 264 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 now somewhat assauged, felt drawn to a little 
 conversation. So, between her cooky bites, she 
 signified her willingness to talk. 
 
 " Yes," she said, nodding her small head ; 
 "I came an awful long ways; I did." 
 
 " Will you stay and be my little girl ? " 
 asked Doctor Pilcher in his most persuasive 
 accents. 
 
 " Oh, no, I can't ! " replied Bobby Jane in 
 great astonishment. " I'm mamma's an' papa's 
 girl." 
 
 "Well, if mamma and papa will give you 
 up, will you come and stay with me?" laughingly 
 pursued the Doctor, to make conversation. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Bobby Jane, shaking her 
 head in the most decided fashion ; " then I'm 
 aunt Judy's " 
 
 Doctor Pilcher started and stared. 
 
 Bobby Jane huddled a small heap of crumbs 
 into one corner of her apron, and leaned 
 forward, feeling it now quite time to enter 
 upon business. 
 
 " Won't you come an' see Deacon Badger ? " 
 she asked anxiously ; " my nice, dear, good 
 Deacon Badger. Do come ! " 
 
 If she had not been so intent on her
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT. 265 
 
 errand, the Doctor's face would have frightened 
 her. As it was, she could only continue to 
 beg in a wheedling way, and throwing aside 
 her cooky, "Will you will you?" 
 
 " What in the world brought you here ? " 
 fairly roared Doctor Pilcher, taking two or 
 three steps toward the chintz sofa, then fall- 
 ing back to stare at her calm complacency. 
 
 " I walked," repeated Bobby Jane, indignant 
 that her word should be called in question. 
 Then returning to the charge, "Deacon Bad- 
 ger's a dyin' they all said so if you don't 
 come an' cure him." 
 
 " Deacon Badger dying ! " 
 
 The room was in an instant so still that 
 the dropping of a pin would have been a 
 positive relief. In after years, Bobby Jane 
 recalled the white face that bent over her, 
 striking fear to her childish heart as the 
 little Doctor grasped her arm, saying, in such 
 a tone of agony that she stopped all her tears 
 to listen, 
 
 " Tell me, child, what you mean ! " 
 
 " He's sick," said Bobby Jane, with big eyes 
 on his white face, forgetting her fear. " An* 
 they're afraid to send for you. Do come ! " and
 
 266 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 with an instinct that the man before her 
 was suffering terribly, she flung her fat little 
 arms around his neck and burrowed the stubby 
 head as far as possible behind the stiff high 
 collar. 
 
 For one moment the Doctor held her close ; 
 then he put her firmly, but gently into the 
 sofa-corner again. " Sit perfectly still until I 
 come back," he said. 
 
 Bobby Jane peered up into his face, to see 
 if there was any chance of happily eluding 
 the obedience required. But seeing there noth- 
 ing to justify her in the attempt, she curled 
 herself up into a small heap, to watch him go 
 out of the room, then fell to nibbling the 
 edges of the remaining cookies while awaiting 
 his return, \vhich soon occurred, when she was 
 taken up with a firm hand, carried out anoit put 
 within the roomy old gig, the Doctor stepping in 
 after her, to give the patient horse a vigorous 
 cut that started him energetically toward Bark- 
 hamsted. 
 
 " I'm comin' to see you again," announced 
 Bobby Jane sociably, in the interval of setting 
 her sun-bonnet straight after the jerk, as the 
 gig flew over the stony ground. " An' I like
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT. 267 
 
 to ride home," she added, pulling down her 
 pink apron in a pleased way. 
 
 " You are Miss Judith Pettibone's little 
 niece, aren't you ? " asked the Doctor, turning 
 his face, which had regained none of its wonted 
 color, down on her. 
 
 " No, I ain't her niece," declared Bobby Jane, 
 shaking her head most decidedly ; " I'm aunt 
 Judy's little girl, an' she loves me," she added, 
 as a piece of information not to be forgotten. 
 
 But the Doctor, not caring for conversation, 
 a silence fell upon the gig and its occupants, 
 only broken by Bobby Jane's declarations that 
 she saw a blackbird, no, two blackbirds, and 
 her pleadings to be allowed to jump out to 
 give chase to a red squirrel flying over a stone 
 wall. These, and similar diversions, occupied 
 the time till, before many moments had passed, 
 their high rate of speed brought them in view 
 of the corner to be turned in order to reach 
 the Pettibone homestead. 
 
 " You are not staying at your aunt Judith's 
 now, are you?" asked Doctor Pilcher, drawing 
 rein here a moment. 
 
 " No," said Bobby Jane. How she wished 
 she could say yes ! Beside all other comfort,
 
 268 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 it would give her such a nice long ride ! 
 
 "Well, hop out, then," said the Doctor, "and 
 go straight home ; as straight as a needle." 
 Then he waited a moment. " Good-by, child ! " 
 and he dropped a kiss under the sun-bonnet 
 rim on the broad, white brow. 
 
 Bobby Jane stood quite still, her feet in a 
 clump of tangled weeds, and regarded the little 
 old gig a moment as it whirled rapidly off 
 toward the village. 
 
 "I like him!" she said to herself. "He gave 
 me cookies, an' he kissed me, but he might 
 a took me clear home ; an' my toes ache aw- 
 fully ; an' I wish't I hadn't gone ! " 
 
 Doctor Pilcher drove on till the little gambreled 
 roof of the widow Scarritt's cottage came into 
 view. Then he slackened speed a bit, the 
 memory of the merry laugh that had been 
 ringing ever since in his ears, making the color 
 to surge up over the pale cheeks. 
 
 "I can't go near Miss Pettibone," he said, 
 with a groan ; " she thinks so much of him. 
 The time's gone by for me to show myself 
 there about this business, and I don't want to 
 ask any one else such a precious lot of gos- 
 sips ! But this little thing looks sensible.
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT. 269 
 
 Pshaw ! why do I mind her ? Here goes ! " 
 
 Pulling his hat over his eyes, he jerked the 
 reins so effectually that the faithful old horse, 
 well-accustomed to sudden summons, soon drew 
 up in front of the Scarritt cottage. Giving 
 himself no time for further consideration, the 
 Doctor was soon passing up the tiny path, and 
 rapping vigorously on the green door. 
 
 Miss Scarritt herself opened the upper half. 
 When she saw who it was, she stiffened up 
 suddenly, every feature of her face, small though 
 it was, bristling with indignation, till she resem- 
 bled, as much as any thing, a diminutive spar- 
 row standing on tiptoe, each feather in battle 
 array. 
 
 "I came I dropped in I " said Doctor 
 Pilcher ; then stopped. 
 
 As the little dressmaker said nothing, he had 
 to begin again. 
 
 " I wanted to ask somebody," he said hum- 
 bly, then abruptly plunged on. " Is Deacon 
 Badger sick, Miss Scarritt?" 
 
 How he waited for her words ! 
 
 "Did you s'pose he could stand every thin'?" 
 asked Miss Scarritt coolly. 
 
 The little man said nothing, but stood there
 
 270 THE PETT1BONE NAME. 
 
 with pale face and eyes cast on the ground. 
 
 "He's sick," said Miss Scarritt, then, terribly 
 frightened at such an unwonted sight, " an' 
 they've sent for you ! I've jest been over 
 there. Don't get scared," she found herself 
 adding, while every feature relaxed, and the 
 battle-feathers drooped. 
 
 A faint gleam of relief spread like an autumn 
 sunshine over the tired, anxious face before her. 
 
 "Thank you," he said ; and, yielding to an 
 unaccountable impulse, he put out his hand. 
 
 The little dressmaker was astonished to find 
 that she reached hers over the half of the 
 green door. 
 
 "I'd get down there as soon as I could," 
 she said kindly, as he grasped it. 
 
 Their eyes met, and she shivered through 
 the remainder of the day whenever she recalled 
 the expression of silent misery revealed in 
 that one look. 
 
 Deacon Badger's household heard of his 
 coming in this way : One of the twins, swing- 
 ing on the front gate, announced it to the 
 other, who rushed into the sick room, shout- 
 ing it out unreservedly.
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT. 271 
 
 The sick man started from a quiet sleep, 
 and turned on his pillow excitedly. " Don't 
 wait a minute!" he exclaimed, "but bring 
 him right in right in ! Adeline, see that 
 they bring him right in ! " 
 
 " He ain't got here," said the twin, pausing 
 long enough to announce this on a high key. 
 " He's only turned by the red school-house." 
 Then he rushed out again to join his dupli- 
 cate with the gate-swinging proclivities. 
 
 " He'll come right in, husband," said Mrs. 
 Badger, trembling so that she could scarcely 
 stand, at thought of the meeting, and she 
 bent over him, smoothing the thin gray hair 
 from his temples. 
 
 Deacon Badger folded his hands, and his lips 
 moved, though no sound of words came from 
 them ; but the face on the pillow was peace- 
 ful beyond expression. 
 
 The little physician came in with bowed 
 head and gentle step, and going around the 
 foot of the old four-post bedstead, he stopped 
 and looked down into the face. 
 
 "You can't cure me," said the Deacon 
 eagerly, and trying to raise himself up further 
 in the bed, " until you say, ' I forgive you ! ' '
 
 272 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 " pa," cried his wife, forgetting reconcilia- 
 tion and every thi ^g but the fright of seeing 
 him excited, "you musn't ! Don't you know 
 how sick you are ? " And she tried to lay a 
 restraining hand on his shoulder. 
 
 The Deacon was laid gently back again among 
 the pillows, but not by the hand of his wife. 
 All the while he was still repeating restlessly, 
 " Do you forgive me ? Do you forgive me ? " 
 an anxious flush spreading over his worn and 
 weary face. 
 
 The first that they knew, Doctor Pilcher was 
 on his knees, and hiding his face in the gay 
 patched bedquilt. 
 
 " Oh don't ! don't ! " begged the Deacon, try- 
 ing with his thin hands to raise him ; " 'twas all 
 my fault; I riled you. Don't! don't!" 
 
 But the little physician's wiry, compact figure 
 writhed in distress, until it seemed as if the 
 evil spirit going from this man would rend him 
 as compensation for its casting out. He essayed 
 to speak, but the words would not come. 
 
 " All my life my temper has gotten control 
 of me," at last he said bitterly, still not looking 
 up. " Now, I ask forgiveness of you ; and so, by 
 my own hand, I slay it."
 
 BOBBY JANE COMES TO THE FRONT. 273 
 
 "We will forgive each other," said the Dea- 
 con humbly; "but mine was the greater sin." 
 
 " Not so ! " exclaimed Doctor Pilcher, starting 
 to his feet, and putting out his hand . 
 
 " Ain't he talkin' too much ; an' hadn't he 
 ought to have some med'cine ? " broke in the 
 Deacon's wife in a worry, whose righteous soul, 
 although rejoicing that the difference was made 
 up, and all things moving amicably, couldn't 
 forget that the Doctor had been sent for in a 
 professional way ; and to her eyes, the time for 
 seeing the pills and powders down had certainly 
 more than arrived. Accordingly, she began to 
 bustle around for the necessary cup and spoon. 
 
 "There is no need of medicine." Doctor Pil- 
 cher kept his eyes on the face before him, while 
 his words were for her. " He needs nothing 
 now only rest." 
 
 "But, Doctor," said Mrs. Badger expostulat- 
 ingly, and pressing nearer the bed, "don't you 
 think you might give him somethin' quietin' ? 
 It seems as if he ought to take some med'cine." 
 
 " I can leave a little quieting powder," said 
 Doctor Pilcher, " if you wish ; but it is not 
 necessary to give it, unless wakeful at night." 
 
 He was feeling the Deacon's pulse as he
 
 274 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 spoke, and his fingers tarried on the thin wrist, 
 and then, as if loath to take away their tender 
 touch, they clasped the trembling hand and 
 held it close and warm for an instant. The 
 little worried wife took a long glance, then 
 sighed in a relieved way, and stole softly out, 
 leaving them so. But she cast a regretful glance 
 at the medicine-case as she went
 
 MR BEE BE ALONE DISSATISFIED. 275 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MR. BEEBE ALONE DISSATISFIED. 
 
 DOCTOR PILCHER, in his small office 
 that evening, was not writing a pre- 
 scription, but a short, friendly note. It ran 
 thus : 
 
 Miss PETTIBONE : It is but fair to inform you that your little 
 niece Bobby Jane, who innocently caused you so much worry 
 several weeks since, has more than atoned for her unconscious 
 part of the affair, by bringing me to my senses. I want you to 
 know this of the child, because it is the truth, and because the 
 stating of this truth may be some atonement on my part. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 ALONZO PILCHER. 
 
 " Now tell every one you know," said Doctor 
 Pilcher in clear, terse sentences, the next day 
 on his rounds, to all whom he met, "that I 
 say Deacon Badger is a grand man. That he's 
 treated me like more than a gentleman a 
 very nobleman ; and that I've been a mule ! 
 Start that story, now, to chase and overtake
 
 276 THE PETTIBOXE NAME. 
 
 the other, and you'll oblige me." After that 
 he favored his gaping audience no more. 
 
 The whole village was now in a turmoil. 
 Those who had spoken against the Deacon, 
 and lent their tongues and influence in never 
 so small a measure to his detriment, were in 
 a dreadful position. Deserted by the little 
 physician, and losing favor at court with the 
 minister an 1 Church officials, they were at 
 their wits' ends how to wriggle gracefully back 
 again into the position of nominal friendship 
 with the good old man. As many of them 
 as could, tried to assert that they "hadn't 
 said 'twas so, an' they didn't really s'pose so." 
 But it was up-hill work to preserve a brave 
 front, and only resulted in a sickly failure. 
 
 The shoemaker's house was literally deserted 
 about these days, Mrs. Bassett's back-door 
 friends going by on the other side of the 
 road, which gave her sufficient time to pursue 
 her domestic avocations without interruption, 
 with only such scraps of news as her worthy hus- 
 band brought from the shop. She, as well as 
 every one, however, could see Doctor Pilcher's 
 gig going by every day. And although Deacon 
 Badger was known to have completely recov-
 
 ME. BEEBE ALONE DISSATISFIED. 277 
 
 ered from his sick attack, it was thoroughly 
 understood that the gig stopped at the old 
 Badger homestead, while its owner dropped in 
 to dinner or to tea, or for a chat in the big 
 kitchen. Sometimes the chat was in the 
 broad fields of the Deacon's generous farm, 
 when, although the little physician was over- 
 run with work, he would pause to talk with 
 his good friend on the other side of the stone 
 wall. Then the conversation ran merry and 
 high, and they always parted with a laugh, 
 a sight and sound to be faithfully reported by 
 the owners of closed blinds in the vicinity. 
 
 It was good to see Miss Judith Pettibone's face 
 about these days, and to hear her light laugh 
 clear and happy as a girl's as she blossomed 
 out, making every thing bright around her in 
 the Badgers' happy home, or, kept at her 
 peaceful stitch, stitching, in her little room 
 looking down on the lilacs. Life meant a joy- 
 ful thing to her nowadays, and all was sunny, 
 and fresh, and beautiful. 
 
 But the old Deacon ! Rescued from a haunt- 
 ing dread that his sin would keep this so- 
 longed-for soul adrift from its rightful harbor 
 a dread intensified by the late revival pass-
 
 278 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 ing over without an apparent emotion being 
 raised in Doctor Pilcher's breast, for which he 
 Deacon Badger felt himself wholly to blame, 
 he now saw the load lifted; and while he 
 still experienced the sense of guilt, it was 
 forgiven guilt, and he could no more help 
 being peaceful and happy, than a bird could 
 help flying and singing. 
 
 To be sure the little Doctor didn't at once 
 "come forward" and press into the ranks of 
 the Church, delighting his friends and aston- 
 ishing his enemies ; but he did tackle his 
 temper in downright earnest, waging many an 
 hard, terrible battle in the solitude of his own 
 soul. No one knew so well as the Deacon, 
 the strength and deadly nature of these con- 
 flicts, nor the many victories that gently 
 covered the slain and cleared up the smoke 
 of the battle-field. 
 
 The clergymen of the two parishes rejoiced 
 in secret and in public over this delightful 
 state of things, this happy termination of a 
 most unhappy affair. Of course the minister 
 from Franklin must come over the hill more 
 than ever now, to show this rejoicing spirit 
 and unite in the paean of his clerical brother
 
 MB. BEEBE ALONE DISSATISFIED. 279 
 
 and other good, staunch friends of the Deacon's. 
 And so he fell into the habit of dropping in 
 often at the widow Scarritt's little cottage ; 
 at first, as was quite natural, to congratulate 
 Miss Pettibone on the final result of her 
 anxiety concerning her good old friend, and 
 then, as in duty bound, to throw out some 
 kind suggestion or helpful thought for the 
 best growth of the young convert whom Mr. 
 Whittaker had seemed glad to partially leave 
 in his hands. These talks always sent the 
 girl to her work with perplexity lightened ; 
 with hope renewed. For to Miriam, her min- 
 ister's friend was hardly second in regard 
 to her pastor himself. Was he not also her 
 spiritual teacher when her new life began ; 
 and did not his finger, too, point the way that 
 henceforth her feet should tread r 
 
 Aunt Judith always sat by on these occa- 
 sions with her sewing or knitting, and often 
 Miss Scarritt and the little widow made the 
 keeping-room a cheerful, cosey place, very bright 
 and pleasant to the lonely man who, in mark- 
 ing out his life-work, had never seen the time 
 when a home, as most men have one, could 
 be included.
 
 280 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "Why don't the man git married, I wonder!" 
 exclaimed Miss Scarritt one day, when Mrs. 
 Parson Whittaker had dropped in for a moment. 
 Miriam had gone off with Lucy Badger on 
 some charitable work, and the little widow was 
 enjoying a nap in the bedroom. " Of all 
 things on this earth, a minister to be a bachel- 
 der I think is the very worst ! So old as he 
 is, too!" 
 
 She gave a little sniff, and twitched her 
 work contemptuously. 
 
 " Anybody would think, if they didn't know 
 you, Miss Samantha," said Mrs. Whittaker with 
 a laugh, " that you had designs yourself on our 
 clerical friend. But then, they do know you." 
 
 "Yis; they do know me," repeated Miss 
 Scarritt composedly, biting off her thread, " I 
 guess, 'bout as well as they ever will. An' 
 most everybody who knows me wouldn't expect 
 me to set up a-courtin' at my time o' life. 
 I don't see but what I'm jest as happy a-goin' 
 out to spend the day where I can hear what- 
 ever's goin' on, an 1 come home to do jest as 
 I've a mind to, as ef I had a husband an' a 
 houseful o' children to plague me an' be a 
 perfect nuisance to every one else. La ! it's
 
 MB. BEEBE ALONE DISSATISFIED. 281 
 
 enough to make me nervous to think of it!" 
 " Well, to let you know why Mr. Beebe 
 has not provided himself with a home before 
 this," said Mrs. Whittaker soberly, " I will 
 tell you some of the reasons that have pre- 
 vented it, that you may see what a man he is. 
 There are some things, Miss Samantha, better 
 than providing for one's self, that fit a man to 
 be in the most sacred of all professions the 
 ministry. And Hiram Beebe, although he ap- 
 pears cool, self-possessed, genial, and care-free, 
 has borne a life of self-sacrifice, the depth of 
 which no one but God knows. 
 
 " Mr. Whittaker, you know, has told me all 
 this so many times that it is just like an old 
 story, that, now you know the man, will be 
 quite as interesting to you. He worked his 
 way along it is not necessary to go back to his 
 college days ; of course those were just full of 
 hard, drudging work. But after he entered the 
 ministry he took upon himself the care of his 
 old mother and two sisters ; for his father 
 had left them next to nothing and between 
 struggling along, no one knows how, and piec- 
 ing out his salary by teaching, he managed to 
 keep along until the death of his mother, who,
 
 282 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 if she did not have a luxurious life, did have 
 such tender care and reverent love thrown 
 round her, that she would not have envied a 
 queen. That was the great blow of his life. 
 But without that we cannot tell he may not 
 have become the man that he is. Well, his 
 sisters made his home for him. One was an 
 invalid, and required the nicest of care ; and this 
 the brother gave for twelve years. Then she 
 was laid to rest. The other sister was married, 
 and there ! You have what is left over in 
 the neighboring parish of Franklin." 
 
 She rose to go, but paused to add a word : 
 " I don't think he has ever cared for any 
 woman. I know he gives his confidence to 
 my husband in every thing, and he has so 
 expressed himself. As he could not offer a 
 woman a suitable home, he would never, I am 
 very sure, allow himself to deviate, even in 
 thought, from his duty to his mother and 
 sisters. That is why Mr. Beebe never was 
 married." 
 
 " She needn't a took such a sight o' trouble to 
 explain it," exclaimed the little dressmaker after 
 she had gone. " Goodness ! I don't care a mite 
 if he never was married, an' if he had forty sisters
 
 ME. BEEBE ALONE DISSATISFIED. 283 
 
 instead o' two. Seems to me Mis. Whittaker 
 gits sort o' touchy, don't she ? Can't bear a 
 word about Mr. Beebe." 
 
 " Well, they think a good deal of him," said 
 Miss Judith in a matter-of-fact way, " and it's 
 natural they should, I'm sure, as long as they've 
 known each other. I like their holding on to 
 their friends, Samantha. There isn't too much 
 of this quality in the world." 
 
 " You never said a truer word in your life ! " 
 said Miss Scarritt heartily. And then Miriam 
 came running in, and the conversation was 
 dropped. 
 
 But suddenly, without the least bit of warning, 
 Miss Judith took to staying up-stairs of an even- 
 ing, under excuse of pressing work that was 
 ordered, and must be done at just such a time. 
 And when they urged her to bring it down and 
 be sociable, she always had a dozen good and 
 reasonable excuses at her command. 
 
 So they were forced to let her have her own 
 way, and Mr. Beebe had many long talks with 
 Miriam, uninterrupted by the confusing chat of 
 a roomful. 
 
 " He'.ll become better acquainted with her in 
 that way," said Miss Judith to herself, with a
 
 284 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 wise nod. " And he'll be quite as much surprised 
 as I am, after seeing her all these years, to find 
 that there's every thing to her but a little time, 
 calculated to make her a fine, noble woman." 
 
 Stitch, stitch, stitch. On flew Miss Judith's 
 needle in her lonely room. " And what odds 
 does it make, any way," she cried to herself in 
 the stillness, " if a score or more of years are 
 between them ? I should rather it would be so 
 than six months the other way. He'll never 
 grow old ; but, with his wisdom and good sense, 
 he'll be just the making of her, and she oh! 
 well, she's fit for any man's wife, most of all for 
 a minister's. It's a special providence all around." 
 
 The Reverend Hiram Beebe walked slowly 
 back to the parsonage after one of these even- 
 ings at the widow Scarritt's. His face was very 
 thoughtful, with here and there a troubled line 
 that grew harder and deeper, so that by the 
 time he had joined the family group of two await- 
 ing him, his preoccupied air could not fail to 
 arouse sympathy and ready questioning. 
 
 "I fear it is of no use," he said quietly. 
 "I do not want to annoy her, and I know I 
 do ; for only on special occasions, when she
 
 MR. BEEBE ALONE DISSATISFIED. 285 
 
 is decidedly requested to come down, will she 
 ever join us." 
 
 " I'm out of all patience with Judith ! " cried 
 Mrs. Whittaker, with feminine disappointment 
 at the ill-success of her dearly-cherished plans. 
 " What in the world does get into her ! " 
 
 "Do not blame her," he replied quickly. "She 
 is too kind to do any thing rude. It is I who 
 am becoming troublesome and intrusive. I am 
 afraid that my visits must be given up. My 
 strong attachment never will be, only I must 
 wait till some favorable opportunity presents 
 itself for further acquaintance." 
 
 There was a patient expression settling down 
 on the face of this man who had waited 
 through so many of the best years of his life 
 for blessings that come easily to others, that 
 so exasperated Mrs. Whittaker to see that she 
 was about opening her mouth for a vigorous 
 outburst, when her husband motioned it back. 
 
 " Hiram Beebe," he exclaimed, energetically, 
 " I shouldn't know you by your words ! For 
 the first time in my life, I see you giving up 
 what you have set your heart on." 
 
 " It is troubling her," he said gently, the 
 patient look deepening.
 
 286 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 "Will you be good enough to tell me one 
 thing," said Mr. Whittaker decidedly, as he 
 knew he must speak, and with a touch of scorn, 
 for the better effect ; " where is the common 
 sense in giving up all that you have gained 
 before you have offered her what you intend 
 to offer ? After that, it is time to talk of 
 staying away." 
 
 "Then I shall speak at once!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Beebe, his intense eyes regaining their 
 keen determination. " I care not who knows 
 it, I love Judith Pettibone. I am proud of 
 it, and I shall tell her of it the very next 
 time that we meet." 
 
 "No, no, no!" cried Mr. and Mrs. Whittaker 
 together. " You will certainly ruin all." 
 
 "Judith never did like to be rushed at 
 about any thing," cried the minister's wife. 
 "You must expect she will be cool and dig- 
 nified until you know her well. Then oh, 
 she's perfectly delightful ! " 
 
 Mr. Beebe tapped his fingers in a vexed 
 way upon the arm of his chair. 
 
 " I will do as you say," he promised, after 
 a moment's thought. " You understand her so 
 well, you know best. But I warn you, if mat-
 
 MR. BEEBE ALONE DISSATISFIED. 287 
 
 ters don't progress under your guidance before 
 long I shall speak for myself." 
 
 He took up the candle that the minister 
 had set out for him, lighted it without a word, 
 and marched off to bed.
 
 288 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE MINISTER FROM FRANKLIN SPEAKS. 
 
 MATTERS progressed in this way for sev- 
 eral months. Under the guidance of 
 the good parson and his estimable helpmeet, 
 the crisis when the favorable moment for declar- 
 ing his love should appear to Mr. Beebe, was 
 just as far off as ever, and he could discover 
 no change in Miss Pettibone's feelings toward 
 himself, so that the time seemed worse than 
 wasted. 
 
 Only that he had become more thoroughly 
 acquainted with Miss Judith, he felt ready to 
 pronounce the persistent calls at the widow 
 Scarritt's as so many forlorn guide-posts to 
 mark the course of his attachment that should 
 by this time have reached its final result 
 the home he longed for. And he never hun- 
 gered so much for this home as when, day 
 after day, and week after week, he saw the love-
 
 THE MINISTER FROM FRANKLIN SPEAKS. 289 
 
 liness, unselfishness, and wonderful strength of 
 the character he took every means to study. 
 
 "She has nothing but indifference for me," 
 he said to himself bitterly on one of his lonely 
 rides back over the hill. For only on special 
 occasions would he consent tt> stay at the 
 parsonage and be comforted. " Yes ; she is 
 constantly showing that in every way. I can 
 see it in her expression, and in every gesture. 
 And yet, she is the kindest person I ever 
 met, and all that is womanly and true." He 
 covered his eyes a moment as certain incidents 
 in Miss Judith's course filled his mind. " I 
 have never seen nor imagined any one so 
 beautiful as she is among those children. I 
 do not wonder they adore her. Well, I'll speak 
 before long, Whittaker and his wife to the 
 contrary. A friend's judgment is not always to 
 be taken, even if he is the best friend on 
 earth." 
 
 But events frustrated the plans of the 
 minister from Franklin. Brother John fell sick, 
 and Miss Judith shut up her little rooms at 
 the widow Scarritt's, and, taking Miriam, went 
 up to the old homestead on the hill, to help 
 take care of him. It proved to be a fever,
 
 290 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 that, after it turned in the sick man's favor, 
 left him very weak to fight his way up to 
 returning health slowly, in the face of many 
 relapses. To say nothing of the fear of a 
 rejection of his suit at such an inopportune 
 time, Mr. *Beet>e had no thought of intrud- 
 ing himself on the notice of the woman he 
 loved, but quietly put his own feelings one 
 side, while he anticipated every service for 
 her and hers that he could possibly achieve. 
 
 Weeks grew into months before John Petti- 
 bone would let his sister out of his sight. 
 'Gusty begged, with tears in her eyes, at each 
 proposal by Miss Judith to return home, that 
 the subject need not be mentioned. But at 
 last, when all was going on in its old sunny 
 fashion in the big old house ; when brother 
 John, from a captious invalid, had become a 
 strong, hearty man again, Miss Judith took 
 matters into her own hands, and, coming 
 down-stairs one bright morning in July with 
 her bonnet on, she announced in a tone that 
 stopped all useless pleadings, that she was 
 bound for her home in the little brown cottage. 
 
 " You can come along in the afternoon, 
 Miriam," she said quietly, when she had put
 
 THE MINISTER FROM FRANKLIN SPEAKS. 291 
 
 down the incipient howls of the children. "The 
 uncanny look of shut-up rooms must be taken out 
 first, else you never will want to stay with your 
 old aunty again," she added, with a cheery 
 smile. 
 
 " O aunty ! I'm going to do the work for 
 you," cried the girl determinedly, and springing 
 up. " You stay here, and let me run over ; 
 do ! " she begged. 
 
 "Nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Judith briskly. 
 "Whoever heard of such an idea as a young 
 thing like you fixing up an old maid's room to 
 suit her! And besides, your roses are about all 
 gone now, after your care and worry over you/ 
 father. So what should I do if you were sick?" 
 She pinched the cheek that was a little pale 
 and thin, finishing up, "You come along this 
 afternoon, child. I shan't be ready for you 
 before then." 
 
 " Mother," said Miriam ardently, looking out 
 to watch Miss Judith's tall figure disappear down 
 the road, "isn't there something we can do to 
 show our love for her? Something to please 
 her?" 
 
 "No," said little Mrs. John Pettibone, with 
 more energy than her daughter ever remem-
 
 292 THE PETTI DONE NAME. 
 
 bered to have seen. " Nothin' that would any- 
 where begin to come near what she's been to 
 us all along. An' she's added to it, by savin' 
 your father's life that's what Doctor Pilcher 
 says by her good nursin'." 
 
 "Mother," said Miriam, leaving her seat to go 
 over to the little woman's side, " we must 
 think of something ! We live right along, year 
 after year, and let aunt Judith wear herself out 
 in doing for us, and we don't do a single 
 thing for her. It isn't right, mother ; it isn't 
 right." 
 
 The young girl looked so distressed, that little 
 Mrs. John burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 " I know 'tisn't," she sobbed, putting up the 
 corner of her big morning apron to quench the 
 torrent ; " but I don't know what to do, I'm sure. 
 Sometimes I think your aunt Judith's goin' to be 
 taken away from us, she's so good. An' death 
 always loves a shinin' mark." 
 
 "O mother, don't!" cried Miriam, turning 
 as white as a sheet ; " don't ! it would kill us 
 all, and Tom " At that she sprang up, and 
 paced the floor with hurried steps. 
 
 " I know," said her mother, sighing deeply. 
 "She's about made that boy. An' he's all
 
 THE MINISTER FROM FRANKLIN SPEAKS. 293 
 
 ready for college almost in, as you may say ; 
 he's so near it. I'm sure I never knew how 
 to help him along any ; an' my hands have 
 been pretty full, if I had known." 
 
 Up and down the big old room went the young 
 feet. So Mrs. John began again in the same 
 tone, interspersed now and then by a sob, 
 
 " An' I do think, Miriam, the only way to 
 pay the one who's done so much for us, is to 
 be just as good an' smart an' likely as all you 
 children possibly can be. I believe that would 
 set your aunt Judith up so that she wouldn't 
 mind any trouble or care." 
 
 " If we only could be as much as she hopes 
 for us," said Miriam in a low voice of intense 
 feeling. 
 
 "Well," said her mother, glancing at the clock; 
 and, seeing that the time for crying and such 
 luxuries had been indulged in to its limit, she 
 wiped off her tears suddenly, and smoothed down 
 the big apron ready for work. " Do the best 
 you can," she added ; " I'm sure none of us can 
 do more. An' now, won't you mend these clothes 
 of the children's in the basket ? If you're goin' 
 over to your aunt's this afternoon, you may as 
 well turn these off first."
 
 294 THE PETTIEONE NAME. 
 
 The next morning, the Reverend Mr. Beebe 
 marched into Mr. Whittaker's study and said : 
 " I shall keep silent no longer. I have been 
 an idiot all this while, not to speak out like 
 a man. Now I shall have the satisfaction of 
 showing my love, at any rate." 
 
 " O Hiram, you will spoil it all ! " cried 
 Mr. Whittaker in dismay. " She has only just 
 gone home. Why cant you be patient! She is 
 coming around gradually, I do believe." 
 
 " Not another instant ! " said the Reverend 
 Mr. Beebe. " I speak now ; " and he was gone. 
 
 Down to the widow Scarritt's he proceeded. 
 And going through the open door, and finding 
 no one within, his impatience led him on into 
 the kitchen, where Miss Scarritt and Miss 
 Pettibone were deep in the mysteries of cur- 
 rant jelly, and the little old widow was pat- 
 tering around, washing up the glasses and 
 bowls. 
 
 " Can I see you ? " said Mr. Beebe, almost 
 sharply, looking at Miss Judith, without a 
 word for the others. 
 
 " Certainly," she said, bestowing a final stir 
 to the boiling mass in the big kettle, and re- 
 linquishing the long spoon to Miss Scarritt.
 
 THE MINISTER FROM FRANKLIN SPEAKS. 295 
 
 And untying her cooking-apron, she followed 
 him wonderingly down the hall to the keeping- 
 room. 
 
 " I can keep silence no longer," he said. 
 His eyes were fastened on her face, while he 
 made no effort to conceal his impatience. "My 
 love has been repressed till it will be heard 
 now." 
 
 " I have seen it all along," she said gently, 
 and trying to help him. 
 
 " I know," he cried bitterly, " but you have 
 kept me from asking what my heart demanded 
 to know." 
 
 That was too much. 
 
 "I have not!" she contradicted, with a great 
 deal of spirit. "I have tried my very best to 
 have you see and know her; how good she " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Beebe at this point seemed 
 to be all eyes, while the words rang through 
 and through Miss Judith's very soul. 
 
 "Miriam " She said only one word. 
 
 " Judith Pettibone ! " 
 
 The minister from Franklin at this point 
 coolly took possession of one of Miss Judith's 
 hands. What he said before he relinquished
 
 296 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 it, is of no consequence to us. Only, after 
 he did relinquish it, the big front door shut 
 suddenly, then the little gate swung to with 
 a merry ring, and a tall, broad-shouldered 
 figure that looked as if it belonged to a 
 man who was old enough to know better, let 
 alone his being a minister, pranced along over 
 the road, occasionally indulging in a boyish skip 
 that would have done credit to a ten-year-old, 
 while Miss Judith walked down to the kitchen, 
 tied on the big apron again, and announced 
 herself ready for the final stirring of the crim- 
 son mass. 
 
 " Seems to me it's all church business nowa- 
 days, an' religious meetin's," said Miss Scarritt, 
 turning a very red face from the preserve-kettle. 
 " Why couldn't the man stay away one morn- 
 ing, I wonder ! " 
 
 " You shouldn't say so, darter," said old 
 Mrs. Scarritt reprovingly. " The Lord's work 
 has to go on, an' his people must take it up," 
 she added, bestowing an extra polish on a big 
 blue earthen cup. 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said the little dress- 
 maker, pushing the kettle a trifle from the 
 intense heat, as she gave up the spoon to Miss
 
 THE MINISTER FROM FRANKLIN SPEAKS. 297 
 
 Judith ; " currant jell must be done, too, I 
 s'pose, 'cause I've always found the Lord's 
 saints are just as ready to eat it as the sin- 
 ners. There, that's done, I should think, Judith ; 
 we better lift it off." 
 
 The little widow sighed, and gazed anxiously 
 at her daughter, whose state of piety, nowise 
 affected by the late revival, was of precisely 
 the same blithesome nature as before. And 
 with the sigh went the expectation, till then 
 fondly clung to, that " Samanthy would stiddy 
 down." Moreover, the success of the currant 
 jelly absorbing all Mrs. Scarritt's attention, she 
 dismissed other thoughts, to lend her eyes and 
 ears to the movements of the two over by the 
 big table, engaged in pouring out the result of 
 the morning's work into its various receptacles. 
 
 But the next Sunday, when everybody within 
 a radius of ten miles knew that "Judith Pet- 
 tibone, daughter to Ira, you know, who died so 
 sudden, is going to marry the minister from Frank- 
 lin, the Reverend Mr. Beebe ! " all the tongues 
 in the two parishes could not express the aston- 
 ishment that fell upon them at receipt of the 
 news. 
 
 "I thought she'd get tired of livin' at the
 
 298 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Scarritts' an' supportin' of herself ! " exclaimed 
 the shoemaker's wife, down by the stove, when 
 the announcement reached her. Then the venom 
 of her nature that the late lesson received 
 could not wholly subdue, asserted itself, and 
 she added excitedly : " That wasn't intended to 
 be for long; only until she could catch some 
 one, I knew ! " 
 
 " You always do know more'n other folks, 
 Mis. Bassett," said little Mrs. Parsons, whose 
 rapid growth in spiritual things couldn't keep 
 her from a sharp reply. "I'd advise you to 
 be a little more strict on yourself than your 
 neighbors." 
 
 The shoemaker's wife muttered something 
 about "Free speech bein' every one's right," 
 to her next neighbor, who didn't hear a word, 
 being occupied in trying to catch all the gos- 
 sip flying wildly around. 
 
 But if any one was astonished almost be- 
 yond the power of recovering in time to con- 
 gratulate, that one was Miss Samantha Scarritt. 
 
 When Miss Judith communicated to her the 
 news, as she did as soon as brother John's 
 family and the Whittakers had been . told, 
 that worthy woman perfectly scandalized her
 
 THE MINISTER FROM FRANKLIN SPEAKS. 299 
 
 friend of many years' close friendship, by cry- 
 ing, " I don't believe a word of it ! You're 
 not such a goose, Judith Pettibone ! " and rush- 
 ing out of the room. 
 
 And for two days she never said a pleasant 
 or kind word, pursing up her thin lips when- 
 ever they had to meet in hall or on stairs, and 
 dropping whatever was in hand to dart out of 
 the keeping-room at the first sight of the tall, 
 ministerial figure entering the gate. 
 
 And now Miriam came to the rescue. 
 
 " Don't feel so, dear Miss Samantha," she 
 begged, forcing her way into a big lumber 
 closet where Miss Scarritt had gone to look 
 over an old chest, and was noisily pushing 
 around things to get to it ; " aunt Judith is so 
 happy." 
 
 "Happy!" cried the little spinster with with- 
 ering scorn, and stopping the deafening noise, 
 to let her voice be heard. "Miriam Pettibone, 
 I hate to say it to you after the respect you've 
 always had for your aunt, but she's she's 
 a goose ! " 
 
 After this terrible denunciation, she fell to 
 again with renewed zeal on the pushing around 
 of every thing she could lay her hands on,
 
 300 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 drowning each attempt on Miriam's part to 
 make herself heard. 
 
 But one night about a week after, just as 
 Miss Pettibone had blown out her light, and 
 was composing herself to a quiet sleep, there 
 came a scratching and rustling at the door, as 
 if a burglar were contemplating an entrance. 
 
 " Auntie," whispered Miriam from her little 
 room, " do you hear that noise ? " 
 
 " It's the mice, probably," said Miss Judith, 
 turning over on her back to listen. " Lie still, 
 child, and go to sleep." 
 
 But presently the knob was turned softly. 
 Miss Judith, realizing this beyond the capabil- 
 ities of the ordinary little house-nuisance, sprang 
 out of bed, and threw the door open with a 
 determined hand. 
 
 " It's only me," said a little humble voice 
 out in the darkness. 
 
 " Samantha, what in this world ! " exclaimed 
 Miss Judith, staring down into the countenance 
 above the white outline. 
 
 " I couldn't sleep," said the little dressmaker, 
 in a miserable voice. " I really couldn't, Ju- 
 dith. I got to thinkin' so how s'posin' you 
 should die before mornin', or I should, an'
 
 THE MINISTER FROM FRANKLIN SPEAKS. 301 
 
 that miserable man do excuse me ! had 
 come between us so that we didn't scarcely 
 speak ! An' it scared me so that I hed to get 
 right up to come an' say, Let's be friends 
 just the same's ever, Judith; doh" 
 
 Her little pinched face looked so comical 
 in the weird light, that Miss Judith had all 
 she could do to refrain from bursting into a fit 
 of laughter. But controlling herself, she said 
 cordially : " That's the very best thing you 
 could have done, Samantha, for both of us;" 
 and bending down, she gave her a kiss, saying, 
 " I'll return you the kiss you made my heart 
 glad with so long ago." 
 
 "An' I'll help get you ready," said Miss 
 Scarritt heroically, determined to do nothing by 
 halves ; and edging to the top of the stairs, 
 "though I must say, same's before, Judith, 
 I do I really do think you're a goose!"
 
 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 WE WILL HELP YOU DO IT, EVERY ONE OF US'!* 
 
 JUDITH PETTIBONE'S wedding day! 
 For once, the good people of Barkhamsted 
 were satisfied. That a wedding, large and impos- 
 ing, in which everybody had a part, should fall 
 within their borders, filled each heart with delight. 
 
 Especially as the time appointed was just 
 between the canning season and the winter 
 work, the good housewives felt at liberty to 
 take as much time as they chose in prepara- 
 tion for it, without laying themselves open to 
 criticism from any one. 
 
 For the great affair was to take place in 
 the old church, as it was exceedingly proper 
 it should. All the village people begged that 
 it might be so, while Mr. Beebe's parishioners 
 were equally clamorous for a chance to unite 
 in the happy occasion ; so what could the two 
 most interested do, but say yes ?
 
 " WE WIIL HELP YOU DO IT." 303 
 
 Particularly as Miss Pettibone, now so soon 
 to put off her own name, and leave her old 
 home among these dearly-loved people, wanted 
 to show her love for them in a way she 
 knew they would best appreciate. And so, 
 though much preferring the simplest marriage 
 possible, she put aside her own wishes, and 
 requested that all, especially the children of 
 the village, should witness the ceremonies. 
 
 And feeling from her friendly messages 
 that each family was especially invited, they 
 one and all entered with the greatest zest into 
 preparations to do honor to the occasion, and 
 to show their love for her. 
 
 Even Mrs. Bassett, on receiving her invita- 
 tion, so far forgot to exhibit any of her usual 
 venom, that she immediately set to work on a 
 cake of the hugest dimensions, to be sent with 
 her respects, for which she starved her family 
 for a week to make up the expense. And 
 for years after, she never tired of taking up 
 from the mahogany table in her "best room," 
 a yellow little note, to show to visitors, telling 
 them, "That's from my most intimate friend, 
 Judith Pettibone that was, askin' me to her 
 weddin'. She married the Reverend Mr. Beebe.
 
 304 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 Used to live over in Franklin, you know, 
 but la! he was too smart for them, an' they 
 moved, after a year or two, down to Penn- 
 sylvany." 
 
 "Judith is happy," said John Pettibone to 
 his wife over and over, on the morning of 
 the wedding-day ; " Gusty, don't take on so ! " 
 
 " You feel just as bad as I do," sobbed the 
 little woman, who was vainly trying to put 
 the " best room " in order. " O John, John, 
 what shall we ever do without her ! " She 
 stopped suddenly the dusting of the claw- 
 footed furniture, and threw herself into her 
 husband's arms, to be gathered up for that 
 comfort which he himself so sorely needed. 
 
 "She's given her life for us, the best part 
 of it," he cried earnestly; "first, to pa and ma, 
 and me. You don't know what a sister she was 
 to me, Gusty." The man's face was wet with 
 tears other than those that flowed from the little 
 wet cheek pressed against his own. 
 
 "Yes, I do," sobbed 'Gusty, " seein' her all 
 these years ! Folks ain't good without startin' 
 right. She's gold all the way through." 
 
 Then he broke out with passionate emphasis: 
 "What she's done for our family, wife, that
 
 " WE WILL HELP YOU DO IT." 305 
 
 we do know, and our children will rise up 
 and call her blessed. See what they'll make, 
 and all because of her ! " 
 
 "Tom's come!", cried Miriam, bounding in, 
 the love -glow over her fair face. "Deacon 
 Badger was at the station when the train came 
 in, and he says Tom ran 'cross lots' over to 
 aunt Judith's the first thing. Deacon Badger's 
 brought his trunk up. And, oh, mother, 
 father ! " exclaimed the girl with a proud ring 
 in her young voice, "he's grown so tall and 
 grand and good Deacon Badger says so!" 
 
 " He can't help but be," said her father, 
 involuntarily straightening up ; " isn't he a 
 Pettibone, pray tell ! Now, Gusty, no more 
 tears. Let Judith have all the sunshine that 
 the old house can give her to-day." 
 
 Meanwhile Bobby Jane and Mehitable, too 
 much excited over their new white dresses and 
 red sashes, to hold their feelings within 
 bounds, kept the old house in a perfect tur- 
 moil, driving every one nearly frantic with their 
 wild joy. 
 
 " Do take your fingers off an' go out ! " 
 cried Miss Scarritt at them, as they hovered
 
 306 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 over the long table, trying to see what was 
 under the white flowers on the bride-loaf. " I 
 can't stand your pickin' at things so." 
 
 " We ain't pickin'," said Bobby Jane indig- 
 nantly, " an' it's our aunt Judy that's goin' 
 to get married, an' it's my all-alone Mr. Beebe ; 
 so!" 
 
 " I don't care who 'tis that's goin' to get 
 married," retorted the little dressmaker, too 
 tired to keep still ; " tain't you, any way. 
 When that time comes you can speak about 
 things ; not before." 
 
 "Miss Samantha," said Bobby Jane, with- 
 drawing her ringers from the fascinating cake, 
 and standing quite still to regard her a mo- 
 ment fixedly, "you won't ever be married 
 never, in all this world. My pa said so the 
 other day, an' everybody says so." 
 
 " Your pa don't know every thin'/' exclaimed 
 the little dressmaker quickly. And then she 
 laughed. " Well," she cried, recovering herself 
 to fly at her work again, "you better go out 
 of this room, both of you ; for if there's any 
 thin' I won't stand, it's an impertinent child." 
 
 "You ought to go, Bobby Jane," advised 
 Ira, coming along the hall just then, resplen-
 
 " WE WILL HELP YOU DO IT." 307 
 
 dent in his new suit, and seeing how matters 
 stood; "and don't make trouble to-day, because 
 everybody's so tired." 
 
 "Oh dear!" cried Mehitable, creeping out 
 in a melancholy way, while Bobby Jane fol- 
 lowed, exclaiming, "You think you're so smart, 
 Ira, 'cause you're goin' off to school like Tom ! 
 But I'm goin' to stay with my aunt Judy an' 
 my Mr. Beebe one, two, three hundred years 
 I guess." 
 
 Into the old homestead, finding this a highly 
 convenient time for renewing the intimacy war- 
 ranted by being "blood relations," came all the 
 cousins to the last degree. It was surprising 
 what an elastic bond united them ; no less sur- 
 prising how many felt obliged to respond to 
 the call of duty that bade them see "dear 
 Judith " married, and be present at the wed- 
 ding feast. 
 
 But the "second and third cousins" dwin- 
 dled in importance by the side of the throng 
 that filled the old village church to witness the 
 giving away in marriage of her who was born 
 and bred in their midst, to be, they all found 
 out now that she was going, a benefactress 
 unto every one. There were nothing but sin-
 
 308 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 cere wishes in every heart. There was not 
 a shadow of envy, even in the most selfish 
 mind. All was gladness and congratulation as 
 Judith Pettibone came out upon the old porch 
 as Judith Beebe. 
 
 But the " cousins " assumed their rightful 
 places as important personages at the old home- 
 stead, where they stalked and rustled among 
 the few invited guests, expatiating on "dear 
 cousin Judith" to every one who would listen. 
 
 "I'm so mad at 'em," confided Miss Scarritt 
 to Reverend Mr. Whittaker, over her plate of cake 
 which she was crumbling up aimlessly, too tired 
 and nervous to carry a bit to her mouth. 
 "Judith don't scarcely know one of 'em. Don't 
 see 'em from one year's end to another, an' 
 now just hear 'em go on ! " 
 
 " It's the way of the world," said Mr. Whit- 
 taker with a cheery laugh. All his laughs 
 nowadays were good to hear. " Miss Samantha, 
 there can nothing spoil this feast." 
 
 Just then a voice took a key above the rest 
 of the chatter. 
 
 "Yes! well, you see now that 'twas all for 
 the best that you didn't git the half o' yer 
 pa's money, Judith."
 
 "WE WILL HELP YOU DO IT." 309 
 
 It was old cousin Huldah Pettibone, a third 
 cousin of John and Judith's father, a tiresome 
 old lady, who, having eaten and drunken her 
 utmost, was now ready with her remarks. 
 
 Mrs. Beebe tried to move away from her 
 dangerous relative who had been attacked with 
 a talking spasm. And cousin Huldah's son 
 started forward to twitch her sleeve, but not 
 in time to save the next words : 
 
 " An' I think 'twas a good thing he left it 
 all to John 'cause " 
 
 "He didn't!" 
 
 A consternation too deep for words now fell 
 upon the entire marriage party. Even the 
 children stopped eating, to crowd, open-eyed 
 and open-mouthed, into the centre of the 
 group from whence the words came, when 
 they found, to their intense astonishment, that 
 the orator was none other than Miss Samantha 
 Scarritt ! 
 
 " He didn't, " repeated the little dressmaker 
 decidedly, all the while observing the utmost 
 care not to look in the direction of the 
 bride, " do any such thing ! I promised not 
 to tell; but I ain't a goin' to let Judith Pet- 
 tibone go away as Judith Beebe, without lettin'
 
 '.no THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 you all, an' everybody, know what she's been 
 doin' all this while ! " 
 
 No use to try to stop her now! 
 
 Mrs. Beebe turned very pale, and glanced 
 over at brother John in great anxiety, while 
 her husband never took his eyes from the face 
 of the one whose character was to be revealed 
 to him in yet a new light. 
 
 " Tell every thing you know," said John Pet- 
 tibone in a loud voice, bringing himself into 
 full view of the little dressmaker; "where you 
 heard it, and how you heard it. Let full 
 justice be done to Judith ; for we will know 
 the truth." 
 
 The relatives nudged each other. This was 
 more exciting than a funeral, and the first 
 reading of a will. 
 
 "You needn't be the least might afeared 
 but what I shall tell it all, now I've got 
 started," said the little dressmaker in her 
 most earnest tones, and giving a succession of 
 nods to all the circle of relatives. " Folks don't 
 ginerally break a promise for nothin', and I ain't 
 a goin' to without doin' the job up. I guess 
 I'll be forgiven. A bad promise is better broken 
 than kept."
 
 " WE WILL IIELP YOU DO IT." 311 
 
 " Stand on the table ! Stand oh the table ! " 
 screamed one of the children, probably Bobby 
 Jane. "We can't see you." 
 
 This invitation not being accepted, and the 
 little dressmaker proceeding calmly in her nar- 
 ration, the bridegroom lifted Bobby Jane to a 
 good position on his shoulder, and stifling her 
 crows of triumph, gave himself up to the posses- 
 sion of every word. 
 
 Seeing which, the fathers and big brothers all 
 over the room, yielded to the importunity of the 
 little people, and soon there were elevated on 
 broad shoulders, all the small folks, whose eyes 
 and mouths were as wide open as were those 
 of their elders. 
 
 " No use to palaver over it," the little dress- 
 maker was saying, " an' I'll come to the point 
 by a short cut. There was another will, a late 
 one. I heard old Mr. Pettibone tell Judith my- 
 self, an' she made me promise not to tell. Do 
 you know why ? " 
 
 A solemn stillness settled all over the room. 
 No one dared to stir. 
 
 "Do you know why?" repeated the little dress- 
 maker in her shrillest key, and standing on her 
 tiptoes, to bring herself a little nearer to other
 
 312 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 people's level. " Because she didn't care for 
 herself a pin's worth compared to her brother 
 John an' her brother John's children. They are 
 all the world to her." 
 
 " Were, you mean," said Mr. Whittaker's deep 
 voice, looking over at the newly-wedded pair. 
 
 Mrs. Judith smiled up into her husband's face, 
 at which, Bobby Jane, thinking the smile was 
 meant for her, tried to clamber down a little to 
 kiss her. 
 
 " Oh well, he warn't here when this was 
 all a goin' on, replied little Miss Scarritt, 
 who, as has been mentioned in this narra- 
 tive, never was, and never would be, a re- 
 specter of persons. " You must let me tell the 
 story in my own way, or I never shall get 
 on in all the world." 
 
 " Go on ! go on ! " went around the room, 
 the " second and third cousins " trying to get 
 into the front row. 
 
 "Well, an' she Judith, I mean took care 
 that the will couldn't be found, so there is 
 none now, an' " 
 
 "Where is it, where is it?" demanded John 
 Pettibone sharply. "You shall have every penny, 
 Judith ! " he cried, in a voice that rang through
 
 " WE WILL HELP YOU DO IT." 313 
 
 the old room, as he turned to his sister. "Every 
 single penny that has been yours so long." 
 
 " You can't prove it," said Mrs. Judith 
 triumphantly, with her brightest smile ; " O 
 John, you can't prove it ! " 
 
 "An' if you could," cried little Miss Scar- 
 ritt in great excitement, " which you can't, you 
 know, as there ain't any will to show, but 
 if you could, why, you'd hurt her more'n the 
 loss of a million dollars would. She's set out 
 for the education of all your children, an' the 
 upliftin' of the Pettibone name, an' she'll do 
 it." 
 
 Deacon Badger and Doctor Pilcher, who had 
 been near neighbors during all this, moved 
 aside at this juncture to let a tall, boyish form 
 push its way into the centre of the group. 
 
 "Aunt Judith," he said with reverent voice, 
 while his eyes, those clear young eyes, searched 
 her face with a world of tenderness, "by the 
 grace of God we will help you do it, every one 
 of us." 
 
 Mrs. Beebe glanced from the strong, earnest 
 face up to her mother's portrait, which had 
 been brought over to the old homestead to 
 bless, with its presence, this day of all days
 
 314 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 for her daughter, and, allowing her gaze to 
 rest on the sweet, radiant face, full of bene- 
 diction, full of Christian faith and purpose, 
 thanked God for it all. 
 
 "Those who have gone before, Tom," she 
 said softly, "beckon us on. I think each one 
 of you children will follow." 
 
 And here Bobby Jane felt called upon to 
 answer. 
 
 "Oh, I'll do it!" she cried from her perch, 
 delighted at the chance of making herself heard. 
 "I'm goin' to be always good. Then I guess 
 aunt Judy'll be glad ! " 
 
 But Miss Samantha had the last word, after 
 all. 
 
 "Judith," she said, drawing her friend down 
 a little back entry when the moment for 
 good-bys had come, and the Franklin minister's 
 chaise stood in waiting at the gate, "for mercy's 
 sake, come here ! " and she thrust her behind 
 a convenient door. "There now, p'raps I can 
 tell you. You know well, you know " 
 
 Here the little dressmaker turned helplessly 
 from side to side, but she received no assistance. 
 
 " Well," and she put her two little wiry hands
 
 " WE WILL HELP YOU DO IT." 315 
 
 into the firm ones that had never failed her, 
 "if you hold on to me, I guess I can tell you 
 that that well, it's all Doctor Pilcher's fault, 
 an' I'm only doin' it to rescue him from that 
 housekeeper; but, Judith, I shall have to tell you 
 that I'm afraid I'm afraid I'm a goose too."
 
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