"Well, now, you couldn't do better than take little Mary, Rose Hext's eldest girl. She's a handy maid, and bright and pleasant to speak to." "No," answered the old woman, "I'll have none o' they Hexts, not I. The Lord is agin Rose and all her family, I know it. I'll have none of them." "But, auntie, you must be nigh on ninety." "I be ower that. But what o' that? Didn't Sarah, the wife of Abraham, live to an hundred and seven and twenty years, and that in spite of him worritin' of her wi' that owdacious maid of hern, Hagar? If it hadn't been for their goings on, of Abraham and Hagar, it's my belief that she'd ha' held on to a hundred and fifty-seven. I thank the Lord I've never had no man to worrit me. So why I shouldn't equal Sarah's life I don't see." Then she went indoors and shut the door. After that a week elapsed without Mrs. Hockin seeing the old woman. She passed the cottage, but no Joanna was about. The door was not open, and usually it was. Elizabeth spoke about this to her husband. "Jabez," said she, "I don't like the looks o' this; I've kept my eye open, and there be no Auntie Joanna hoppin' about. Whativer can be up? It's my opinion us ought to go and see." "Well, I've naught on my hands now," said the farmer, "so I reckon we will go." The two walked together to the cottage. No smoke issued from the chimney, and the door was shut. Jabez knocked, but there came no answer; so he entered, followed by his wife. There was in the cottage but the kitchen, with one bedroom at the side. The hearth was cold. "There's some'ut up," said Mrs. Hockin. "I reckon it's the old lady be down," replied her husband, and, throwing open the bedroom door, he said: "Sure enough, and no mistake--there her be, dead as a dried pilchard." And in fact Auntie Joanna had died in the night, after having so confidently affirmed her conviction that she would live to the age of a hundred and twenty-seven. "Whativer shall we do?" asked Mrs. Hockin. "I reckon," said her husband, "us had better take an inventory of what is here, lest wicked rascals come in and steal anything and everything." "Folks bain't so bad as that, and a corpse in the house," observed Mrs. Hockin. "Don't be sure o' that--these be terrible wicked times," said the husband. "And I sez, sez I, no harm is done in seein' what the old creetur had got." "Well, surely," acquiesced Elizabeth, "there is no harm in that." In the bedroom was an old oak chest, and this the farmer and his wife opened. To their surprise they found in it a silver teapot, and half a dozen silver spoons. "Well, now," exclaimed Elizabeth Hockin, "fancy her havin' these--and me only Britannia metal." "I reckon she came of a good family," said Jabez. "Leastwise, I've heard as how she were once well off." "And look here!" exclaimed Elizabeth, "there's fine and beautiful linen underneath--sheets and pillow-cases."