nervous or not, and concluded to express her vexation in groans: the
groans she was giving in memory of the departed Mr. Shotwell, who had
died of a "cannon bullet."

"My good Mrs. Shotwell," said Mrs. Piper, trying to "make
conversation," "I think I have got something in my eye: will you please
tell me how it looks?"

"O," said Prudy, peeping into it, "your eye looks very well, ma'am;
don't you '_xcuse_ it; it looks well enough for _me_."

"Ahem!" said Mrs. Piper, laughing, and settling her head-dress, which
was Susy's red scarf: "are your feet warm, Mrs. Shotwell?"

"Thank you, ma'am," replied Prudy, "I don't feel 'em cold. O, dear, if
your husband was all deaded up, I guess you'd cry, Mrs. Piper."

Susy and Flossy looked at each other, and smiled. They thought Prudy
seemed more like herself than they had known her for a long time.

"You must go right out of the parlor, Betsey," said Mrs. Piper,
flourishing the poker; "I mean you, Susy--the parlor isn't any place for
hired girls."

"Ma'am?" said Susy, inclining her head to one side, in order to hear
better.

"O, dear! the plague of having a deaf girl!" moaned Mrs. Piper. "You
don't know how trying it is, Mrs. Shotwell! That hired girl, Betsey,
hears with her elbows, Mrs. Shotwell; I verily believe she does!"

"O, no, ma'am," replied Prudy; "I guess she doesn't hear with her
elbows, does she? If she _heard_ with her elbows, she wouldn't have to
ask you over again!"

This queer little speech set Mr. Piper and his wife, and their servant,
all to laughing, and Betsey looked at her elbows, to see if they were in
the right place.

"Will you please, ma'am," said Prudy, "ask Betsey to _hot_ a flatiron?
I've cried my handkerchief all up!"

"Yes; go right out, Betsey, and _hot_ a flatiron," said Mrs. Piper, very
hospitably. "Go out, this instant, and build a fire, Betsey."

"Yes, go right out, Betsey," echoed Mr. Piper, who could find nothing
better to do than to repeat his wife's words; for, in spite of himself,
she did appear to be the "head of the family."

"It was my darlin' husband's handkerchief," sobbed Prudy.

"Rather a small one for a man," said Mr. Piper, laughing.

"Well," replied Prudy, rather quick for a thought, "my husband had a
very small nose!"

Mrs. Piper tried to make more "conversation."

"O, Mrs. Shotwell, you ought to be exceeding thankful you're a widow,
and don't keep house! I think my hired girls will carry down my gray
hairs to t