Miss Nancy was little changed; the small, tall, thin, narrow-chested, stooping figure—­the same long, fair, freckled, sharp set face—­the same prim cap, and clean, scant, faded gown, or one of the same sort—­made up her personal individuality.  Miss Nancy now had charge of the village post-office; and her early and accurate information respecting all neighborhood affairs, was obtained, it was whispered, by an official breach of trust; if so, however, no creature except Miss Nancy, her black boy, and her white cat, knew it.  She was a great news carrier, it is true, yet she was not especially addicted to scandal.  To her, news was news, whether good or bad, and so she took almost as much pleasure in exciting the wonder of her listeners by recounting the good action or good fortune of her neighbors or the reverse.

And so, after having dropped her riding-skirt, and given that and her bonnet to Marian to carry up-stairs, and seated herself in the chair that Edith offered her at the table, she said, sipping her coffee, and glancing between the white curtains and the green vines of the open window out upon the bay: 

“You have the sweetest place, and the finest sea view here, my dear Mrs. Shields; but that is not what I was a-going to say.  I was going to tell you that I hadn’t hearn from you so long, that I thought I must take an early ride this morning, and spend the day with you.  And I thought you’d like to hear about your old partner at the dancing-school, young Mr. Thurston Willcoxen, a-coming back—­la, yes! to be sure! we had almost all of us forgotten him, leastwise I had.  And then, Miss Marian,” she said, as our blooming girl returned to her place at the table, “I just thought I would bring over that muslin for the collars and caps you were so good as to say you’d make for me.”

“Yes, I am glad you brought them, Miss Nancy,” said Marian, in her cheerful tone, as she helped herself to another roll.

“I hope you are not busy now, my dear.”

“Oh, I’m always busy, thank Heaven! but that makes no difference, Miss Nancy; I shall find time to do your work this week and next.”

“I am sure it is very good of you, Miss Marian, to sew for me for nothing; when—­”

“Oh, pray, don’t speak of it, Miss Nancy.”

“But indeed, my dear, I must say I never saw anybody like you!  If anybody’s too old to sew, and too poor to put it out, it is ’Miss Marian’ who will do it for kindness; and if anybody is sick, it is ’Miss Marian’ who is sent for to nurse them; and if any poor negro, or ignorant white person, has friends off at a distance they want to hear from, it is ‘Miss Marian’ who writes all their letters!”