sleep, for she so nodded and swayed about
that the farmer feared she would tumble out of the wagon. She occupied
a seat just back of his and filled it, too. The idea of stepping over,
sitting beside her, and holding her in, was inexpressibly repugnant to
him. So he began talking to her, and finally shouting at her, to keep
her awake.

His efforts were useless. He glanced with rueful dismay over his
shoulder as he thought, "If she falls out, I don't see how on earth
I'll ever get her back again."

Fortunately the seat slipped back a little, and she soon slid down into
a sort of mountainous heap on the bottom of the wagon, as unmindful of
the rain as if it were a lullaby. Now that his mind was at rest about
her falling out, and knowing that he had a heavy load, Holcroft let the
horses take their own time along the miry highway.

Left to her own devices by Holcroft's absence, Mrs. Mumpson had passed
what she regarded as a very eventful afternoon and evening. Not that
anything unusual had happened, unless everything she said and did may
be looked upon as unusual; but Mrs. Mumpson justly felt that the
critical periods of life are those upon which definite courses of
action are decided upon. In the secret recess of her heart--supposing
her to possess such an organ--she had partially admitted to herself,
even before she had entered Holcroft's door, that she might be
persuaded into marrying him; but the inspection of his room, much
deliberate thought, and prolonged soliloquy, had convinced her that she
ought to "enter into nuptial relations," as her thought formulated
itself. It was a trait of Mrs. Mumpson's active mind, that when it
once entered upon a line of thought, it was hurried along from
conclusion to conclusion with wonderful rapidity.

While Jane made up Mr. Holcroft's bed, her mother began to inspect, and
soon suffered keenly from every painful discovery. The farmer's meager
wardrobe and other belongings were soon rummaged over, but one large
closet and several bureau drawers were locked. "These are the
receptercles of the deceased Mrs. Holcroft's affects," she said with
compressed lips. "They are moldering useless away. Moth and rust will
enter, while I, the caretaker, am debarred. I should not be debarred.
All the things in that closet should be shaken out, aired, and
carefully put back. Who knows how useful they may be in the future!
Waste is wicked. Indeed, there are few things more wicked than w