ed and all
things became new. At a little town, with an unpronounceable Spanish
name, which it suited her to call "Boston," she had her home-room in
the house of a long-suffering woman cousin, whose ill-health afforded
her infinite employment, therefore enjoyment. The invalid endured these
ministrations because Aunt Sally also supported her, as well as ruled
her; but she appreciated the rest which followed whenever the itching of
Mrs. Benton's feet called their owner elsewhere. Between "Boston" and
Sobrante the patriotic wagon vibrated, like a long-distance pendulum,
and departing from either point carried everything belonging to its
proprietor within it. "Boston" having become wearisome it was now
Sobrante's turn.

"I haven't been so happy since I first trod shoe leather. Now, honey,
you'll have good, clean fixings, with no opium nor rat tails in 'em,"
she gleefully announced, returning to the table.

"Aunt Sally, hush! What an opinion you'll give our guest of my
housekeeping!" laughed Mrs. Trent.

"Pooh, child! Anybody that looks at you'll know you hate dirt. Now,
eat, all. Only--you, Mr. Hale, I must insist you take a dose of this
saffron tea. I steeped it while I was having that set-to with the
Chinaman, for I thank my stars I can always do two things at once. And
if I know the signs--Gabriella Trent, if that man hasn't got the
janders or shingles, or malary fever, don't you tell me a thing!"

"I certainly shall not tell you any such thing as that, dear soul. The
trouble is, Mr. Hale, Aunt Sally is never so happy as when she has a sick
person to nurse. If nobody is ill she does her utmost to make somebody
so, with her uncalled for doses and stews. But--once be ill! Ah! dear
Aunt Sally, I know how tender is your touch and how faithful your watch.
God bless you!"

Not often was the gentle mistress moved to such emotion, and Mrs. Benton
now put on her spectacles and regarded her hostess over them with a
critical air.

"Land, honey! You must be coming down with something yourself! I never
heard that janders was catching, but, heart of grace, it might be! Yes,
in-deedy, it might be!"

The delight of her tone was equaled only by the sparkle of her eye. To
have come to Sobrante, guided merely by the itching of a foot and to find
two patients ready to hand, what mortal could ask more?

Possibly, with the intention of helping on their timely disorders,
she heaped her neighbors' plates with the savory dinner, which