you see, about my electin’ to leave the farm and go ‘long some o’ my own folks; but”—­and she whispered this carefully—­“he didn’t give me no chance to stay there without hurtin’ my pride and dependin’ on him.  I ain’t said that to many folks, but all must have suspected.  A good sight on ’em’s had money of Is’iah, though, and they don’t like to do nothin’ but take his part an’ be pretty soft spoken, fear it’ll git to his ears.  Well, well, dear, we’ll let it be bygones, and not think of it no more;” but I saw the great tears roll slowly down her cheeks, and she pulled her bonnet forward impatiently, and looked the other way.

“There looks to be plenty o’ good farmin’ land in this part o’ the country,” she said, a minute later.  “Where be we now?  See them handsome farm buildin’s; he must be a well-off man.”  But I had to tell my companion that we were still within the borders of the old town where we had both been born.  Mrs. Peet gave a pleased little laugh, like a girl.  “I’m expectin’ Shrewsbury to pop up any minute.  I’m feared to be kerried right by.  I wa’n’t never aboard of the cars before, but I’ve so often thought about ’em I don’t know but it seems natural.  Ain’t it jest like flyin’ through the air?  I can’t catch holt to see nothin’.  Land! and here’s my old cat goin’ too, and never mistrustin’.  I ain’t told you that I’d fetched her.”

“Is she in that basket?” I inquired with interest.

“Yis, dear.  Truth was, I calc’lated to have her put out o’ the misery o’ movin’, an spoke to one o’ the Barnes boys, an’ he promised me all fair; but he wa’n’t there in season, an’ I kind o’ made excuse to myself to fetch her along.  She’s an’ old creatur’, like me, an’ I can make shift to keep her some way or ’nuther; there’s probably mice where we’re goin’, an’ she’s a proper mouser that can about keep herself if there’s any sort o’ chance.  ‘T will be somethin’ o’ home to see her goin’ an’ comin’, but I expect we’re both on us goin’ to miss our old haunts.  I’d love to know what kind o’ mousin’ there’s goin’ to be for me.”

“You mustn’t worry,” I answered, with all the bravery and assurance that I could muster.  “Your niece will be thankful to have you with her.  Is she one of Mrs. Winn’s daughters?”

“Oh, no, they ain’t able; it’s Sister Wayland’s darter Isabella, that married the overseer of the gre’t carriage-shop.  I ain’t seen her since just after she was married; but I turned to her first because I knew she was best able to have me, and then I can see just how the other girls is situated and make me some kind of a plot.  I wrote to Isabella, though she is ambitious, and said ’twas so I’d got to ask to come an’ make her a visit, an’ she wrote back she would be glad to have me; but she didn’t write right off, and her letter was scented up dreadful strong with some sort o’ essence, and I don’t feel heartened about no great of a welcome.  But there, I’ve got eyes, an’ I can see ho’t