ey were too costly to lay away," she
replied, and the words were as real a eulogy of her husband as she had
ever uttered.

"It's a pity Abel lost Molly Merryweather," said Betsey. "Is thar any
likelihood of thar comin' together again? Or is it true--as the rumour
keeps up--that she is goin' to marry Mr. Jonathan befo' many months?"

"It ain't likely she'll throw away all that good money once she's got
used to it," said Sarah. "For my part, I don't hold with the folks that
blamed her for her choice. Thar ain't many husbands that would be worthy
of thar hire, an' how was she to find out, till she tried, if Abel was
one of those few or not?"

"He al'ays seemed to me almost too promisin' for his good looks, Mrs.
Revercomb. I'm mighty partial to looks in a man, thar ain't no use my
denyin' it."

"Well, I ain't," said Sarah, "they're no mo' than dross an' cobwebs in
my sight, but we're made different an' thar's no sense arguin' about
tastes--though I must say for me that I could never understand how a
modest woman like you could confess to takin' pleasure in the sight of a
handsome man."

"Well, immodest or not, I hold to it," replied Betsey in as amiable a
manner as if there had been no reflection upon her refinement. "Abel
stands a good chance for the legislature now, don't he?"

"I ain't a friend to that, for I never saw the man yet that came out of
politics as clean as he went into 'em, and thar ain't nothin' that
takes the place of cleanness with me." In her heart she felt for Betsey
something of the contempt which the stoic in all ranks of life feels for
the epicurean.

At supper that night Sarah repeated this conversation, and to her
astonishment, not Abel, but Blossom, went pitiably white and flinched
back sharply as if fearing a second fall of the lash.

"I don't believe it! Mr. Jonathan will never marry Molly. There's no
truth in it!" she cried.

Over the coffee-pot which she has holding, Sarah stared at her in
perplexity. "Why, whatever has come over you, Blossom?" she asked.

"You haven't been yo'self for a considerable spell, daughter," said
Abner, turning to her with a pathetic, anxious expression on his great
hairy face. "Do you feel sick or mopin'?"

He looked at Blossom as a man looks at the only thing he loves in life
when he sees that thing suffering beneath his eyes and cannot divine the
cause. The veins grew large and stood out on his forehead, and the big
knotted hand that was carrying his