o' you, Tom Skiddy. 'O' course everybody knows what he's stayin' here for. But then if Miss Rosalie's goin' in for the Quakers, I aint agoin' with her-that's one thing. Couldn't-not for nuts.'

'You can find somethin' else to do, I s'pose?' said Tom, taking up the square stick of cedar.

'Most like I can' said Martha,-spry folks like me don't want for work generally.'

I should think you might,' remarked Tom, measuring the two pieces. Nice fit, aint it?'

said Martha,- one of 'em's rough enough

for two, and big enough.'

'That's all along o' what's been done to t'other,' said Tom, beginning to work at the square stick.

'Some odds in the stuff, aint there?' said Martha.

'Not much,' said Tom. 'Both out o' one stick. One was further out and t'other further in-that's all.' And Tom whittled away assiduously, while Martha looked on in silence.

'Goin' to make 'em both alike?' she inquired.

'Just alike,' said Tom, 'being knittin'-needles. They're different shades o' red though. I don't care about seein' two things too much alike, if they have got to go together.' 'Such as what?' said Martha.

'Horses,' said Tom,- and folks. You and I always worked better, Martha, for having such a variety between us.'

'Well, I do' know but we did,' said Martha musingly. 'Just about what you call a fine match, we are, I think,' said Tom.

Are!' repeated Martha, with a little toss of her head. 'Well, might be, then,' said Tom.

'I don't know about that,' said Martha. It mought, and it mought not, as folks used to say where I was raised.'

6

'So they did in my town,' said Tom, but then they always fetched up with "and then again it mought." I shouldn't mind making the experiment, for one.'

'I wouldn't be venturesome, Tom Skiddy,' said Martha, with her head a little on one side and leaning against the tree.

'I'll risk it,' said Tom.

'Well now!' said Martha.

'What's come over you to be so skeery?' said Tom. 'You're as bad as our white colt, that used to always shy afore he went through the bar-place.'

'I might be worse'n that,' said Martha. 'I might shy and not go through the bar-place after all, Tom Skiddy.' 'That aint the fashion of colts,' said Tom. They wouldn't get paid for their trouble.'

'Well suppos'n I shouldn't get paid for going through?' said Martha.

'You would,' said Tom, shaving off thin slices of the red cedar.

'Sure?' said Martha.

'Sartain,' said Tom.

'Time I was in the house, I know,' said Martha; and in a very deliberate way Miss Jumps picked up her sunbonnet and walked off towards the back door.

'Goin' through the bar-place?' said Tom.

'Maybe,' returned Martha. 'You're so good at making up things s'pose'n you try your hand at some more.'

THE WAY OF THE WORLD.

353

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again ?—Much Ado About Nothing.

If anything could have made Mrs. Arnet deeply unhappy, a letter which she received from her daughter early in November would have done it. Fortunately nature had placed her beyond much risk of that sort, but discomposure she did feel in abundance.

'You must come here if you wish to see the grand ceremony of my life, mamma,' Marion wrote; for here it will take place. Thornton wishes it, and so does Rosalie; and I am but too glad to be spared the great New York fuss which you would think indispensable were I there.'

Indispensable !—the word came back from the very bottom of Mrs. Arnet's heart; which was however not so far off as it might have been. But married up there! in a country kitchen! - for what had any farmhouse but a kitchen ;—the idea was overwhelming, and yet there was no help. There was time for her to reach them, but not to make them change their plans; and on the whole Mrs. Arnet concluded she had better stay at home. The mere ceremony was not much, and if she went away there would be no prepared fuss against their return; whereas by a diligent use of the time between now and then, she could do much to repair the mischief. Therefore she would not go.

Neither could Mrs. Raynor be present. So she wrote; the journey at that time of year and of her life seemed too much.

A A

'I give thee up, dear child,' she said, 'as fully and freely as if there. I always thought thee too good to be mine alone. But go to thee I cannot; therefore come not for me.'

And so the night before that morning in November there was 'nobody but just their four selves,' as Mrs. Hopper said, in the sitting-room. Hulda had been there to be sure, in such a mixture of pleasure that she was to be with Marion for a while, and sorrow that Rosalie was going away, and joy to think of living always part of the time with her and Mr. Raynor too; that she was sometimes absolutely still, and sometimes flitted about like a very spirit of unrest. But now she had gone to bed and all was quiet. Quiet but for the sweeping remarks of the wind; and they were so general that nobody thought of answering them. The brother and sister were much in each other's thought; and could the thoughts have been read they would have told of

"All that fills the minds of friends
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives henceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again."

Perhaps the faces revealed so much; for of the other two present, one was unusually grave, and the other at least as usual. But he was the first to speak; not in a particularly grave way, but rather playfully-as if willing with a light hand to attach and wind off the long threads of thought in which his companions had enwrapped themselves. And thus he spoke :

"Knowledge dwells

In heads replete with thoughts of other men ;
Wisdom, in minds attentive to their own."

"Which would prove us all sages,' said Miss Arnet.

KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM.

355

'Not all' said Mr. Raynor. My attention at least was not turned within.'

'Nor mine,' said Thornton.

'No,' said his friend; you have come near disproving the other line :—

"And whistled as he went for want of thought."

'Why?' said Thornton laughing.

'You have given the fire so much, so meditative, and so needless attention.'

'So fruitless also,' said Rosalie.

'Very well,' said Thornton; but I have not been so lost in meditation as to miss the glances stolen at us all from under cover of your eyelashes, little Sweetbrier.'

She smiled, but the playful lines quickly composed themselves into graver fashion than before.

'I am thinking, Alie,' said Thornton, 'what you will do without some one to take charge of.'

'She may take charge of me,' said Mr. Raynor.
'You!' said Thornton.

'Well?' was the quiet reply.

It is such a comical idea to imagine anybody's presuming to dictate or even advise any line of conduct to you.'

'Presuming-yes,' said Mr. Raynor. 'I should scarcely call the idea comical.'

'Well doing it at all, then.'

"He that hath no pleasure in looking up is not fit to look down," said Mr. Raynor. You are making me out very unfit for my trust.'

'I recant then,' said Thornton, and am quite willing that you should be perfect after your own fashion. I am certainly afraid she will lose the pleasure of fault findingbut I suppose she can live without it.'