and see."

"Heaven forbid! Gracious! Mrs. Upjohn will think that's a swear.
Don't look this way, Miss Phebe. They'll discover me. What's Mr.
Hardcastle saying?"

"The world is very evil."

"'The times are waxing late.' Why doesn't he add that and go?"

"He never goes. He only comes."

"What is Mrs. Upjohn so wrought up about?"

"She caught one of her Sunday-school boys breaking Sunday."

"How?"

"Eating apples."

"Horrible! Where?"

"Up in a tree."

"Whose tree?"

"That's where the unpardonable comes in. Her tree."

"Poor boy; what a mistake! What are you doing with that hideous silk
stocking?"

"Picking up dropped stitches."

"Whose stitches? Yours?"

"Mrs. Hardcastle's."

"Don't aid and abet her in creating that monstrosity. It's participation
in crime. It's worse than eating apples up a tree. Do you always have
such a crowd here in the morning?"

"Always."

"How long have they been here?"

"Nearly two hours."

"What do they come for?"

"Habit."

"Miss Lydia's asleep."

"Habit too."

"What shall you do when you are done with that odious stocking?"

"Sort crewels for Mrs. Upjohn."

"And then?"

"Iron out my dress for the party."

"Oh, at Mrs. Anthony's? Who'll be there?"

"Everybody who has dropped in here this morning."

"Who else?"

"Those who dropped in yesterday."

"But what will you do to make it party-like?"

"Simper. Aren't you coming too?"

"Not if you think it would do for me to say that I held party-going wrong
for a clergyman. Could I? I might win over Mrs. Upjohn to the Church by
so holy a statement."

"You had better take to round-dancing instead, then, to keep her
out of it."

"Miss Phebe, is it possible you are severe on poor Mrs. Upjohn?"

"Very possible."

"As your pastor I must admonish you. Don't be. Besides, it's safer to
keep on her blind side."

"She hasn't any."

"Unhappy woman! What a blaze of moral light she must live in! But I
ought to have been in my study an hour ago. I must tear myself away. I
wish you all ill-luck possible with those stitches."

"Ah, is that you, Mr. Halloway? I was wondering what kept Phebe so long
in the window. Good-morning, sir. Good-morning, sir. Pray, come in." And
having, by a turn of his slow old head, discovered the young man standing
just outside the window, Mr. Hardcastle came pompously forward, waving
his hand in a grand way he had, that seemed to bespeak him always the
proprietor, no matter in who