“Ay, is she. And mind you, Joe, what he said of her?” “That she would wile a bird off a bough; yes, that’s what Dave said, and Betty Alden, she puts in, ‘Allowing ’twas a male bird, so she would.’” “Ay, Betty’s keen as a needle, and as straight. Well, Joe, if she’s made a fool of a score, there’s no call for us to make it two-and-twenty, is there?” “Indeed there’s not, and I wouldn’t vex the dear mother for a cargo of red-gold heads like hers.” “Nor for any other. So, that’s settled, Joe, and you’re breathed by now. Come on.” An hour later the young men, worn, weary, and sore athirst, welcomed the sound of rushing waters, heard but not seen through the thick foliage, and Joseph, in the advance as usual, cried out,-- “Hullo! Here’s Jenney’s Mill close at hand. We’ve got enough birds for a famous stew, so let’s stop and rest awhile, and speak with the miller’s folk.” “‘Folk’ standing for Abby and Sally and Sue Jenney,” said William provokingly. “And Sam and his new wife, who was a great friend of yours, Master Bill, while she was called Nanny Lettice, and the Widow Jenney, who to my mind is better company than the girls.” “Ho! Ho! Well, there’s naught like a sober mind to recommend a young fellow, and I’m glad to see it cropping up in your field, Father Joseph. Well, we’ll make a neighborly call upon the widow, and while you talk about Parson Chauncey’s notions of immersion and Mr. Ainsworth’s psalmody I’ll e’en say a word of a lighter sort to the young gentlewomen.” “Have your jest, Will, have your jest,” returned the younger brother coolly, “but I know somewhat you don’t.” “Think you do, I dare say! A wise man in his own conceit is Joe Bradford.” But seeing that his brother, instead of being teased, was holding himself very quiet and peeping through the branches of the young maples crowding down to the brink of the little river Plymouth modestly calls The Town Brook, William stepped softly behind him, and with something of the guilty joy of Actæon, looked upon almost as fair a sight as he did.