"Well, not knitting, but I've sewing," said Sara, trying to feel hospitable, and wondering what Mrs. Upd.y.k.e would think if she should confess that she scarcely knew the meaning of that word "lonesome." "Let me take your hood and shawl, won't you?"

"Waal, while I set; is the babby's well as usual?" with a keen glance at the little fellow, who was happily dragging a pasteboard cart on spool wheels about the floor.

"Very well, thank you; and grows so fast! He walks nicely now, and can say 'Monnie,' and 'Mawta,' and 'Wawa,'--that's me,--besides several other words."

"H'm; got any flannils onto him?" "Oh, yes; I made some out of father's old ones," with a sigh at the beloved name.

"Ye did, hey? Hope they fit som'ers near."

She now critically examined the room once more; but as it was far neater than her own, she could not reasonably find any fault there, so started on a new tack.

"How old's Morton?"

"Twelve next summer."

"Gittin' to be a big boy, ain't he?"

"Yes, and such a good one! He is a great help to me."

"Waal, he orter be; some boys o' twelve airns their own livin', don't ye know?"

"Yes; and Morton can do something when it comes warmer, but he needs more schooling yet, though, indeed, he often does odd jobs on a Sat.u.r.day that bring in a little. He's an industrious boy, and I want him to have a good education."

"Waal, as to thet, some folks thinks too much o' book-larnin', _I_ say! Your fayther didn't hev much o' it to boast on, an' see what a good pervider he was. Books is well enough, but sense is better, an'

forehandedness is best o' all."

As she talked, her needles clicked sharply amid the clouded blue yarn of her half-formed sock, and her eyes, almost as sharp, kept roving about, while the uneasy nose seemed determined to root out anything that might escape them. Just then Molly came in breezily, her curls flying, and her cheeks a bright pink, and, seeing the visitor, managed, all in one instant, to give Sara a lightning glimpse of a most disgusted little visage, even while she turned with a dimpling smile to say,--

"Why, Mrs. Upd.y.k.e, is it you? Then that must be why Zeba Osterhaus and Betty Pulcher were crossing the street in front of your house; I guess they couldn't get in."

"Crossin' the street--where? Jest below?" beginning to wind up her yarn hurriedly. "Hed they railly been to my haouse?"

"Well, I'm not sure, but I think so; I didn't ask 'em where they'd been."

"And be they to thet little stuck-up Mis' Gurney's naow?"

"They went in there--yes."

"H'm. Jest bring my shawl, Sairay. Come to think on't, I've got an arrant there myself this arternoon--come nigh to disremembering it.

Waal, good-day; why don't ye come over ever? When ye want advice, or anythin', I'm allers there," and the woman ambled swiftly away, having quite forgotten the lecture she had prepared for the "shiftless, bookish gal" she was leaving, and only intent on learning what Zeba and Betty could want with her opposite neighbor.

Molly dropped into a chair, and laughed merrily.

"Didn't I get rid of her slick, though? Say, Sara, what does she make you think of?"

"Hush, Molly, she's a good soul, and means well."

"So's a cow, but you don't want her trampling all over your garden! I'll tell you what she's like--an old rabbit in a cap. She keeps her nose going just the same, and her ears are even longer."

"Molly! Molly!"

"Well, it's so, and you can't deny it. Do you know, Sara, she stopped Morton and me this morning, when we were going to school, and told him it was a shame for him to 'set araound, a-livin' on his sister, and he ought to get a berth in one of the fishing-smacks, and would if he had any grit to him.' It made Mort as blue as anything, and he's gone down to Uncle Jabez Wanamead's now, to see about shipping."

"Molly, are you _sure?_" springing up in excitement. "I won't have it. He's too young, and hasn't had half schooling enough; and, Molly, are you certain he went there?"

Molly nodded, quite enjoying this excitement in her usually placid sister.

"Then I must go after him, and leave you to tend Neddie. Oh, _why_ can't people mind their own affairs?"

Poor Sara, trembling all over, started hastily towards the wardrobe for her outer wraps, when a stamping outside the door arrested her, and in a moment the boy entered, knocking the last bit of snow from his boots as he did so.

Sara's eyes, bent upon him, discovered something in his expression which made her cry out,--"Morton, what have you been doing?"

"Doing? Why"--

"Tell me the truth!" she commanded, almost fiercely.

He turned upon Molly with sudden anger.

"Have you been tattling? I'll bet you have!"

"No, but I told Sara; you didn't tell me not to."

"Lots of good 'twould have done, if I had! You never kept a thing in your life--never!"

"Did, too, Morton Olmstead!" her pout melting swiftly into a mischievous smile.

"Well, what, I'd like to know?"

"My sh.e.l.l chain--so there! You've tried and tried to get it away, and you never could!" at which comforting remembrance she broke into a laugh, which was so infectious even Morton had to smile.

But he turned from her with a disdainful gesture, only to meet Sara's anxious, questioning eyes.

"Well, I've shipped," he answered doggedly, "that's what!"

"Morton!" With the word all the strength seemed to go out of her, and she dropped weakly into a chair.

"Who with?" she asked sternly, for once forgetting even grammatical rules in her intense dismay.

"With Uncle Jabez Wanamead; he's going out in a week or two, and needs a boy."

"Morton, you can't go!" a determined look settling over her white face.

"It's a rough, dreadful life! Old Jabez drinks like a fish, and you'll have to mix his grog a dozen times a day; then you'll have all the dirty work to do, day and night, and be sent aloft where a cat couldn't cling, with the boat pitching like a sturgeon, and, as likely as not, be thrown to the deck with a broken arm, if you're not killed outright. And when all's said and done, you'll never be anything--_any_thing but a fisherman!"

"What else was pa?" stoutly. "Anybody'd think you was ashamed of him!"

She hesitated for a moment, and in her excitement began pacing the room, her face working with contending emotions, while the children sat still and watched her, awed into silence. At length she stopped before them, and seated herself in the chair which had always been that father's when at home, and said, in a voice so sweet and sad that it thrilled even Molly's careless little soul,--