here mentioned (to wit, Silence and Sukey) were the
eldest and the youngest of a numerous, family, the offspring of three
wives of Seth Jones, of whom these two were the sole survivors. The
elder, Silence, was a tall, strong, black-eyed, hard-featured woman,
verging upon forty, with a good, loud, resolute voice, and what the
Irishman would call "a dacent notion of using it." Why she was called
_Silence_ was a standing problem to the neighborhood; for she had more
faculty and inclination for making a noise than any person in the whole
township. Miss Silence was one of those persons who have no disposition
to yield any of their own rights. She marched up to all controverted
matters, faced down all opposition, held her way lustily and with good
courage, making men, women, and children turn out for her, as they would
for a mail stage. So evident was her innate determination to be free and
independent, that, though she was the daughter of a rich man, and well
portioned, only one swain was ever heard of who ventured to solicit her
hand in marriage; and he was sent off with the assurance that, if he
ever showed his face about the house again, she would set the dogs on
him.

But Susan Jones was as different from her sister as the little graceful
convolvulus from the great rough stick that supports it. At the time of
which we speak she was just eighteen; a modest, slender, blushing girl,
as timid and shrinking as her sister was bold and hardy. Indeed, the
education of poor Susan had cost Miss Silence much painstaking and
trouble, and, after all, she said "the girl would make a fool of
herself; she never could teach her to be up and down with people, as she
was."

When the report came to Miss Silence's ears that Deacon Enos considered
himself as aggrieved by her father's will, she held forth upon the
subject with great strength of courage and of lungs. "Deacon Enos might
be in better business than in trying to cheat orphans out of their
rights--she hoped he would go to law about it, and see what good he
would get by it--a pretty church member and deacon, to be sure! getting
up such a story about her poor father, dead and gone!"

"But, Silence," said Susan, "Deacon Enos is a good man: I do not think
he means to injure any one; there must be some mistake about it."

"Susan, you are a little fool, as I have always told you," replied
Silence; "you would be cheated out of your eye teeth if you had not me
to take care of you."