mmins?"

Samantha hardly knew why the tears should spring to her eyes as she
watched the dinner party,--unless it was because we can scarcely look at
little children in their unconscious play without a sort of sadness,
partly of pity and partly of envy, and of longing too, as for something
lost and gone. And Samantha could look back to the time when she had sat
at little tables set with bits of broken china, yes, in this very
summer-house, and little Martha was always so gay, and David used to
laugh so! "But there was no use in tryin' to make folks any dif'rent,
'specially if they was such nat'ral born fools they couldn't see a hole
in a grindstun 'thout hevin' it hung on their noses!" and with these
large and charitable views of human nature, Samantha walked back to the
gate, and met Timothy as he came out of the orchard. She knew then what
he had been doing. The boy had certain quaint thoughts and ways that
were at once a revelation and an inspiration to these two plain women,
and one of them was this. To step softly into the side orchard on
pleasant evenings, and without a word, before or afterwards, to lay a
nosegay on Martha's little white doorplate. And if Miss Vilda chanced to
be at the window he would give her a quiet little smile, as much as to
say, "We have no need of words, we two!" And Vilda, like one of old, hid
all these doings in her heart of hearts, and loved the boy with a love
passing knowledge.

Samantha and Timothy walked down the hill to the store. Yes, David
Milliken was sitting all alone on the loafer's bench at the door, and
why wasn't he at prayer-meetin' where he ought to be? She was glad she
chanced to have on her clean purple calico, and that Timothy had
insisted on putting a pink Ma'thy Washington geranium in her collar, for
it was just as well to make folks' mouth water whether they had sense
enough to eat or not.

"Who is that sorry-looking man that always sits on the bench at the
store, Samanthy?"

"That's David Milliken."

"Why does he look so sorry, Samanthy?"

"Oh, he's all right. He likes it fust-rate, wearin' out that hard bench
settin' on it night in 'n' night out, like a bump on a log! But, there,
Timothy, I've gone 'n' forgot the whole pepper, 'n' we're goin' to
pickle seed cowcumbers to-morrer. You take the lard home 'n' put it in
the cold room, 'n' ondress Gay 'n' git her to bed, for I've got to call
int' Mis' Mayhew's goin' along back."

It was very vexatious to be obl