e these admonished their
offspring.

"Hypatia Smith, you're draggin' your pink sash, leave Mommer fix it.
There now, don't you dare to set down so Grammer can see you lookin'
good."

"Lionel Jones, you throw that old pop-corn overboard. Do you want to eat
it after you've had it on the floor?"

"Does your stomach hurt you, dear? Well, here don't cry Mommer'll give
you another cruller."

With much shouting of jocular advice from the male passengers the _Fall
of Rome_ was warped into Chadwick's Landing and the waiting groups came
aboard. As they streamed on, bearing bundles and boxes and all the
impedimenta of excursions, those already on board congregated on the
after-deck to distinguish familiar faces. A few persons had come down to
the landing merely to look upon the embarkation.

These, not going themselves on the excursion, maintained an air of
benevolent superiority that could not conceal vivid curiosity. Among
them, eagerly scanning the faces on deck was a very small thin woman
clad in a gingham dress, on her head a battered straw hat of accentuated
by-gone mode, and an empty provision-basket swinging on her arm. Mrs.
Tinneray peering down on her through smoked glasses, suddenly started
violently. "My sakes," she ejaculated, "my sakes," then as the dramatic
significance of the thing gripped her, "My--my--my, ain't that
_terrible_?"

Solemnly, with prunella portentousness, Mrs. Tinneray stole back of the
other passengers leaning over the rail up to Mrs. Bean, who turned to
her animatedly, exclaiming,

"They've got a new schoolhouse. I can just see the cupola--there's some
changes since I was here. They tell me there's a flag sidewalk in front
of the Methodist church and that young Baxter the express agent has
growed a mustache, and's got married."

Mrs. Tinneray did not answer. She laid a compelling hand on Mrs. Bean's
shoulder and turned her so that she looked straight at the small group
of home-stayers down on the wharf. She pointed a sepulchral finger,

"_That there, in the brown with the basket, is Hetty Cronney, own sister
to Mis' Josiah Tuttle._"

Mrs. Bean clutched her reticule and leaned over the rail, gasping with
interest.

"Ye don't say--that's her? My! My! My!"

In solemn silence the two regarded the little brown woman so unconscious
of their gaze. By the piteous wizened face screwed up in the sunlight,
by the faded hair, nut-cracker jaws, and hollow eyes they utterly
condemned Mrs. Tuttl