t couldn't be a
very hard matter, most likely, to set it aside. All that farm, and the
Old Homestead, and her money in the bank, going to that Glory McWhirk!
Why, it was just ridiculous. The old lady must have been losing her
faculties. One thing was certain, anyway. The minister was out of a
boarding place again. So that question came up, in all its intricate
bearings, once more.

This time Mrs. Gimp struck, while, as she thought, the iron was hot.

Mr. Parley Gimp met Mr. Armstrong, one morning, in the village street,
and waylaid him to say that "his good lady thought she could make room
for him in their family, if it was so that he should be looking out for
a place to stay at."

Mr. Armstrong thanked him; but, for the present, he was to remain at
Cross Corners.

"At the Old House?"

"No, sir. At Mr. Gartney's."

The iron was cold, after all.

Mrs. Parley Gimp called, one day, a week or two later, when the minister
was out. A visit of sympathetic scrutiny.

"Yes, it was a great loss, certainly. But then, at her age, you know,
ma'am! We must all expect these things. It was awfully sudden, to be
sure. Must have been a terrible shock. Was her mind quite clear at the
last, ma'am?"

"Perfectly. Clear, and calm, and happy, through it all."

"That's very pleasant to think of now, I'm sure. But I hear she's made a
very extraordinary arrangement about the property. You can't tell,
though, to be sure, about all you hear, nowadays."

"No, Mrs. Gimp. That is very true," said Mrs. Gartney.

"Everybody always expected that it would all come to you. At least, to
your daughter. She seemed to make so much of her."

"My daughter is quite satisfied, and we for her."

"Well, I must say!--and so Mr. Armstrong is to board here, now? A little
out of the way of most of the parish, isn't it? I never could see,
exactly, what put it into his head to come so far. Not but what he makes
out to do his duty as a pastor, pretty prompt, too. I don't hear any
complaints. He's rather off and on about settling, though. I guess he's
a man that keeps his intentions pretty close to himself--and all his
affairs, for that matter. Of course he's a perfect right to. But I will
say I like to know all about folks from the beginning. It aggravates me
to have to begin in the middle. I tell Serena, it's just like reading a
book when the first volume's lost. I don't suppose I'm _much_ more
curious than other people; but I _should_ like to know just