“Sis and I never knew which of us Hiliary loved. He came to see us both—and, in fact, the whole family. And everybody liked him, and he liked everybody. But it seemed pretty certain that he would ask one of us to marry him. So sis and I (we were living here alone then—father having died the year before) laughingly considered that we would probably not need more than one trousseau (for Hiliary was the only beau we both had), and that we would put into the teapot all that we could spare for that purpose and not count it until Hiliary had asked one or the other of us—then she was to have it all. Whenever we had a levy or a fi’-penny-bit to spare, we would drop it into the teapot. Sis put in twice to my once, I am sure, because I had what they called a sweet tooth in my head, and brother Ben said that syrup water, which you could get at the groceries then, was the only thing that was good for it.” The blind one stopped the story to explain something she thought was not plain to me: “We thought we could only _afford_ to have one wedding between us, you know.” “Why, weren’t there plenty of suitors?” asked I. “I guess there was only one for both of us—and his name was Hiliary,” smiled the frail one. Then she went on: “One night Hiliary was here, and sis and I were sitting in these two chairs, close together, as if we were afraid of him (we always sat that way when he was here). I remember that I had on my blue-flowered delaine, and sis had on her black Swiss with the green sprigs in it, just as we are in that first daguerreotype at the left-hand corner of the parlor mantel. Hiliary had just shown sis one of the new coins of 1857. “‘Well,’ he laughed, ‘I want to marry one of you girls, but hanged if I know which one to ask. You are both mighty lovely. I believe I’ll turn Mormon.’ “But I thought he shied off toward sis there as he said it, and I never felt so lonely in my life as I did for a second or two then. “‘Now, you are taller than sis, here, but she is plumper—and I like both. Your eyes are the same—there is no choice there. But sis’s hair is a bit redder—and I like that. It shows a spirit. And I don’t want to be the whole thing when I marry. But _you_ are extravagant,’ he said to me, ‘and I don’t like that, because I’m poor, and a wife must help her husband to get along.’ “I thought again that he moved a bit more toward sis, there—who was hiding the coin. “Just then sis cried: ‘Heads for me, tails for sis. Which is it? Hurry! hurry!’ “‘All right,’ said Hiliary, laughing. “Sis turned up the coin—and it was—me! “She jumped up and ran away laughing, then, and Hiliary sat still quite a while, as if he weren’t exactly sure. I was hanging my head ashamed and afraid. But then he laughed and put his arms around me and kissed me. He was a little bashful. “‘I guess God put that into sis’s head,’ he said. [Illustration: “‘_I want to marry one of you girls, but hanged if I know which one to ask_’”]