t had been sent them in their
box of Thanksgiving goodies.

There was so little poverty in the Valley that, when any real case of
suffering was discovered, it was taken up with enthusiasm. Lloyd
wondered how she could have thought Libbie Simms so hopelessly ugly,
when she saw her face light up with unselfish interest in her poor
neighbours, and heard her suggestions for their relief. And her
conscience pricked her for making fun of Miss McGill's taste when she
saw how generous she was, and listened to her humourous description of
several things that had happened in the Valley. She was certainly
entertaining, and looked at life through spectacles as rose-coloured as
her necktie.

The library filled rapidly, and soon a score of needles were at work on
the flannel garments intended for the Crisp family. Lloyd, on a stool
between Katherine Marks and Mrs. Walton, sewed industriously, interested
in the buzz of conversation all around her.

"This is not malicious gossip," explained Mrs. Walton, in an amused
undertone, smiling with Lloyd and Katherine at a remark which
unintentionally reached their ears. "But in a little community like
this, where little happens, and our interests are bound so closely
together, the smallest details of our neighbours' affairs necessarily
entertain us. It _is_ interesting to know that Mr. Rawles and his
great-aunt are not on speaking terms, and it is positively exciting to
hear that Mr. Wolf and Mrs. Cayne quarrelled over the leaflets used in
Sunday school, and that she told him to his face that he was a hypocrite
and no better than an infidel. It doesn't make us love these good people
any the less to know that they are human like ourselves, and have their
tempers and their spites and feuds. We know their good side, too. Wait
till calamity or sickness touches some one of us, and, see how kind and
sympathetic and tender they all are; every one of them."

"You'll hear more gossip here in one afternoon than at all the Cranford
tea-tables put together," said Katherine Marks. "But it is a mild sort,
like the kind going on behind us."

Miss McGill, with her head close to Abby Carter's, was saying: "Oh, but,
my dear, he gets more suspicious and foxy every day of his life. I don't
see how Emma Belle puts up with such a cranky old father."

"I know," responded Abby. "They say he drives the cook nearly
distracted, going into the kitchen every day and lifting the lids off
all the pots and pans to sme