“Pleased to see ye,” said the old woman; “walk in and lay off your things.”  And we followed her into the house.  I wish you could have seen her:  she wore a man’s coat, cut off so that it made an odd short jacket, and a pair of men’s boots much the worse for wear; also, some short skirts, beside two or three aprons, the inner one being a dress-apron, as she took off the outer ones and threw them into a corner; and on her head was a tight cap, with strings to tie under her chin.  I thought it was a nightcap, and that she had forgotten to take it off, and dreaded her mortification if she should suddenly become conscious of it; but I need not have troubled myself, for while we were with her she pulled it on and tied it tighter, as if she considered it ornamental.

There were only two rooms in the house; we went into the kitchen, which was occupied by a flock of hens and one turkey.  The latter was evidently undergoing a course of medical treatment behind the stove, and was allowed to stay with us, while the hens were remorselessly hustled out with a hemlock broom.  They all congregated on the doorstep, apparently wishing to hear everything that was said.

“Ben up on the mountain?” asked our hostess.  “Real sightly place.  Goin’ to be a master lot o’ rosbries; get any down to the shore sence I quit comin’?”

“O yes,” said Mr. Lorimer, “but we miss seeing you.”

“I s’pose so,” said Mrs. Bonny, smoothing her apron complacently; “but I’m getting old, and I tell ’em I’m goin’ to take my comfort; sence ‘he’ died, I don’t put myself out no great; I’ve got money enough to keep me long’s I live.  Beckett’s folks goes down often, and I sends by them for what store stuff I want.”

“How are you now?” asked the minister; “I think I heard you were ill in the spring.”

“Stirrin’, I’m obliged to ye.  I wasn’t laid up long, and I was so’s I could get about most of the time.  I’ve got the best bitters ye ever see, good for the spring of the year.  S’pose yer sister, Miss Lorimer, wouldn’t like some? she used to be weakly lookin’.”  But her brother refused the offer, saying that she had not been so well for many years.

“Do you often get out to church nowadays, Mrs. Bonny?  I believe Mr. Reid preaches in the school-house sometimes, down by the great ledge; doesn’t he?”

“Well, yes, he does; but I don’t know as I get much of any good.  Parson Reid, he’s a worthy creatur’, but he never seems to have nothin’ to say about foreordination and them p’ints.  Old Parson Padelford was the man!  I used to set under his preachin’ a good deal; I had an aunt living down to East Parish.  He’d get worked up, and he’d shut up the Bible and preach the hair off your head, ’long at the end of the sermon.  Couldn’t understand more nor a quarter part what he said,” said Mrs. Bonny, admiringly.  “Well, we were a-speaking about the meeting over to the ledge; I don’t know’s I like them people any to speak of.  They had a