Old lady Barnes with a sigh dropped the checked shirt that she was patching into the big work-basket that rested on the bench beside her. This basket was already overflowing with other garments for both boys and girls, that needed everything in the way of repair from a button to a knee patch, or even to a whole sleeve, for with a slim purse and six children to keep covered neither Grandma Barnes’ work-basket nor her fingers knew many empty moments. Taking off her spectacles and rubbing her eyes, as if to see the news as well as to hear it, she said: “Don’t tell me Tommy has got hurt in that reaping-machine, down at Weatherby’s. I told your pa he was too young to handle such a job!” “No, Tommy’s all right—they were gathering in the last stack as I came by.” “Lammy _hasn’t_ gone in swimming again down to the crick with the Connor boys?” “Nope, he’s stopped behind at the Centre to tend store for Mr. Sims, ’cause his horse got loose in Deacon Mason’s orchard and ate himself into the colic!” “Billy hasn’t fell off the fish-market roof, has he? Your pa took him there this mornin’ to help hand up shingles, though ’twas against my wishes.” “No, grandma, Billy’s all right, too,” said Sarah, who had recovered her breath by this time and was beginning to laugh. “What makes you always think worry? Pa is all right, and Mary and Ruth are helping the minister’s wife get the hall ready for the cake sale, and I’m here, so you see there’s nothing the matter with _us_.” “Think worry!” exclaimed grandma, now settling her glasses again and preparing to hear the news comfortably so long as neither her son nor his children, to whom she was both grandmother and mother, were in danger, “wait until your only son’s wife dies and leaves you to keep track of six children, with as mixed tempers and complexions as ducks, chickens, and turkeys all in one brood, and I guess you’ll think worry too. But why don’t you fetch out your news?—Not but what you are all good and promising enough in your way,” she added hastily, lest she should be found belittling her own flesh and blood, which she considered next to breaking the whole ten commandments. “Well, granny,” began Sarah, bringing out her words slowly, and satisfied that the old lady’s expectations were sufficiently raised and that she would have an attentive listener, “the General Wentworth place is open and they’re putting new fences all around the back of it, and a lovely Gray Lady and a little girl with golden hair have come to live there. They have been there since spring too, and I didn’t know it. The girl is as old as me, but she’s smaller, for she isn’t strong and sits in a wheel-chair, and they’ve asked me to come in again.”