mpartial
and was quite as likely to refuse a dance with him to sit out one
with Sam Thatcher or Ben Hammond or any other village youth of her
acquaintance. However, although she piqued and irritated him, he was
obliged to admit to his inner consciousness that she was the most
interesting person he had yet discovered in South Harniss, also that
even in the eyes of such connoisseurs as his fellow members of the
senior class at school she would have been judged a "good looker," in
spite of her country clothes.

He met her father, of course. The Reverend Mr. Kendall was a dreamy
little old gentleman with white hair and the stooped shoulders of a
student. Everybody liked him, and it was for that reason principally
that he was still the occupant of the Congregational pulpit, for to
quote Captain Zelotes, his sermons were inclined to be like the sandy
road down to Setuckit Point, "ten mile long and dry all the way." He was
a widower and his daughter was his companion and managing housekeeper.
There was a half-grown girl, one of the numerous Price family, a cousin
of Issachar's, who helped out with the sweeping, dish-washing and
cooking, but Helen was the real head of the household.

"And she's a capable one, too," declared Mrs. Snow, when at supper one
evening Helen's name had come into the conversation. "I declare when I
was there yesterday to see the minister about readin' poetry to us at
sewin'-circle next Monday that parlor was as neat as wax. And 'twas all
Helen's work that kept it so, that was plain enough. You could see her
way of settin' a vase or puttin' on a table cloth wherever you looked.
Nobody else has just that way. And she does it after school or before
school or 'most any odd time. And whatever 'tis is done right."

The housekeeper put in a word. "There's no doubt about that," she said,
"and there ain't any more doubt that she don't get much help from her pa
or that Maria B." There were so many Prices within the township limits
that individuals were usually distinguished by their middle initial. "As
for Mr. Kendall," went on Rachel, "he moves with his head in the clouds
and his feet cruisin' with nobody at the wheel two-thirds of the time.
Emma Smith says to me yesterday, says she, 'Mr. Kendall is a saint on
earth, ain't he,' says she. 'Yes,' says I, 'and he'll be one in heaven
any minute if he goes stumblin' acrost the road in front of Doctor
Holliday's automobile the way I see him yesterday.' The doctor pu