“There’s nobody more considerate than you be,” protested Miss Rebecca Wright.

Mrs. Trimble made no answer, but took out her whip and gently touched the sorrel horse, who walked considerably faster, but did not think it worth while to trot.  It was a long, round-about way to the house, farther down the road and up a lane.

“I never had any opinion of the Bray girls’ father, leavin’ ’em as he did,” said Mrs. Trimble.

“He was much praised in his time, though there was always some said his early life hadn’t been up to the mark,” explained her companion.  “He was a great favorite of our then preacher, the Reverend Daniel Longbrother.  They did a good deal for the parish, but they did it their own way.  Deacon Bray was one that did his part in the repairs without urging.  You know ’t was in his time the first repairs was made, when they got out the old soundin’-board an’ them handsome square pews.  It cost an awful sight o’ money, too.  They hadn’t done payin’ up that debt when they set to alter it again an’ git the walls frescoed.  My grandmother was one that always spoke her mind right out, an’ she was dreadful opposed to breakin’ up the square pews where she’d always set.  They was countin’ up what ‘t would cost in parish meetin’, an’ she riz right up an’ said ‘t wouldn’t cost nothin’ to let ’em stay, an’ there wa’n’t a house carpenter left in the parish that could do such nice work, an’ time would come when the great-grandchildren would give their eye-teeth to have the old meetin’-house look just as it did then.  But haul the inside to pieces they would and did.”

“There come to be a real fight over it, didn’t there?” agreed Mrs. Trimble soothingly.  “Well, ’t wa’n’t good taste.  I remember the old house well.  I come here as a child to visit a cousin o’ mother’s, an’ Mr. Trimble’s folks was neighbors, an’ we was drawed to each other then, young’s we was.  Mr. Trimble spoke of it many’s the time,—­that first time he ever see me, in a leghorn hat with a feather; ’t was one that mother had, an’ pressed over.”

“When I think of them old sermons that used to be preached in that old meetin’-house of all, I’m glad it’s altered over, so’s not to remind folks,” said Miss Rebecca Wright, after a suitable pause.  “Them old brimstone discourses, you know, Mis’ Trimble.  Preachers is far more reasonable, nowadays.  Why, I set an’ thought, last Sabbath, as I listened, that if old Mr. Longbrother an’ Deacon Bray could hear the difference they’d crack the ground over ’em like pole beans, an’ come right up ’long side their headstones.”

Mrs. Trimble laughed heartily, and shook the reins three or four times by way of emphasis.  “There’s no gitting round you,” she said, much pleased.  “I should think Deacon Bray would want to rise, any way, if ‘t was so he could, an’ knew how his poor girls was farin’.  A man ought to provide for his folks he’s got to leave behind him, specially if they’re women.  To be