imagined her daughters' pockets
filled with farthings, a certain sign they would shortly be stuffed with
gold. The girls themselves had their omens. They saw rings in the
candle, purses bounced from the fire, and love-knots lurked in the
bottom of every teacup.

Toward the end of the week we received a card from two town ladies, in
which, with their compliments, they hoped to see our family at church
the Sunday following. All Saturday morning I could perceive, in
consequence of this, my wife and daughters in close conference together,
and now and then glancing at me with looks that betrayed a [v]latent
plot. To be sincere, I had strong suspicions that some absurd proposal
was preparing for appearing with splendor the next day. In the evening
they began their operations in a very regular manner, and my wife
undertook to conduct the siege. After tea, when I seemed in fine
spirits, she began thus:

"I fancy, Charles, my dear, we shall have a great deal of good company
at our church to-morrow."

"Perhaps we may, my dear," returned I, "though you need be under no
uneasiness about that; you shall have a sermon, whether there be or
not."

"That is what I expect," returned she; "but I think, my dear, we ought
to appear there as decently as possible, for who knows what may happen?"

"Your precautions," replied I, "are highly commendable. A decent
behavior and appearance in church is what charms me. We should be devout
and humble, cheerful and serene."

"Yes," cried she, "I know that; but I mean we should go there in as
proper a manner as possible; not like the scrubs about us."

"You are quite right, my dear," returned I, "and I was going to make the
same proposal. The proper manner of going is to go as early as
possible, to have time for meditation before the sermon begins."

"Phoo! Charles," interrupted she, "all that is very true, but not what I
would be at. I mean, we should go there [v]genteelly. You know the
church is two miles off, and I protest I don't like to see my daughters
trudging up to their pew all blowzed and red with walking, and looking
for all the world as if they had been winners at a [v]smock race. Now,
my dear, my proposal is this: there are our two plough-horses, the colt
that has been in our family these nine years and his companion,
Blackberry, that has scarce done an earthly thing for this month past.
They are both grown fat and lazy. Why should they not do something as
well as we? And let me