tove in the church house.

"Now I used to think that Mathias had got the best of Jonathan," his
thoughts returned to the present, "but there's no knowing if Drusilla is
aiming to set down her name Mistress Oneby or Mistress Witchcott. Women
are powerful tetcheous. Keep a man uncertain and troubled in his mind
with their everlasting whims."

No one knew that any better than did Philomel Whiffet. It made him
patient with the young fellows in their trials, for he had had a mighty
hard row to hoe in his own courting days. Hadn't Ambrose Creech and Herb
Masters aggravated him within an inch of his life before he finally
persuaded Clarissa that neither of the two was worth his salt, that only
he, Philomel Whiffet, the singing master, could bring her happiness in
wedded life. That had been long years ago.

Philomel had been a widower for ten years past and never once had he
cast eyes on another woman; that is to say, with the idea of marriage.
"There's no need for a man to put his mind on such as that without he
can better himself, and I never calculate to see Clarissa's equal, let
alone her betters. Nohow, singing school is good a-plenty to keep a body
company." That was Philomel Whiffet's notion and he stuck to it. It was
as though she, Clarissa, still bustled about the Whiffet cabin, for
Philomel, though he lived alone, kept the place as she had--spic and
span just as Clarissa had left it. There on the shelf were the cedar
piggins, scoured clean with white sand from the creek, one for spice,
one for rendering, one for sweeting. And there on the wall hung the salt
gourd. "It's convenient to the woman for cooking," he had said when
first they started housekeeping. How happy he had been in those days,
looking after Clarissa and the little Whiffets as they came along. Not
until they were all grown and married off and gone, and he and Clarissa
were alone once more, did he really come to realize how very happy their
household had been. He liked to look back on those times. "It's
singing-school night, Pa"--Clarissa had taken to calling him Pa; got it
from the children. "You best strike the tuning fork and sing a tune or
two before you start. Gets your throat limbered up and going smooth."
Philomel had come to wait for her urging. Then he would fumble in his
waistcoat pocket for the tuning fork and tapping it to chair rim or
bootheel, he'd hold it to his ear, pitch the tune, and sing a verse or
two of this ballad and of that. The