"What are you doing to that window, Direxia Hawkes?" demanded Mrs. Tree, looking up from her knitting with a glittering eye. "I was cleanin' it." "I'm glad to hear it. I never should have supposed so from looking at it. Perhaps you'd better let it alone." "You're a terrible tedious woman to live with, Mis' Tree!" said Direxia. "You're welcome to go any minute," replied Mrs. Tree. "Yes'm," said Direxia. "What kind of sauce would you like for tea?" "Any kind except yours," said Mrs. Tree; and then both smiled grimly, and felt better. Direxia polished away, still with an anxious eye on the old woman whom she loved fiercely. "He sent a message to you, last thing before he drove off. He wanted I should tell you--what's this now he said? 'Tell her to keep on growing young till I come back,' that was it. Well, he's a perfect gentleman, that's what he is." Something clicked in Mrs. Tree's throat, but she said nothing. Mrs. Tree was over ninety, but apart from an amazing reticulation of wrinkles, netted fine and close as a brown veil, she showed little sign of her great age. As she herself said, she had her teeth and her wits, and she did not see what more any one wanted. In her morning gown of white dimity, with folds of soft net about her throat, and a turban of the same material on her head, she was a pleasant and picturesque figure. For the afternoon she affected satin, either plum-colored, or of the cinnamon shade in which some of my readers may have seen her elsewhere, with slippers to match, and a cap suggesting the Corinthian order. In this array, majesty replaced picturesqueness, and there were those in Elmerton who quailed at the very thought of this tiny old woman, upright in her ebony chair, with the acanthus-leaf in finest Brussels nodding over her brows. The last touch of severity was added when Mrs. Tree was found knitting, as on the present occasion. "Ithuriel Butters is a sing'lar man!" Direxia went on, investigating with exquisite nicety the corner of a pane. "He gave me a turn just now, he did so." She waited a moment, but no sign coming, continued. "I was to Miss Phoebe 'n' Vesty's when he druv up, and we passed the time o' day. I said, 'How's Mis' Butters now, Ithuriel?' I said. I knew she'd been re'l poorly a spell back, but I hadn't heard for a consid'able time. "'I ain't no notion!' says he. "'What do you mean, Ithuriel Butters?' I says. "'Just what I say,' says he. "'Why, where is she?' I says. I thought she might be visitin', you know. She has consid'able kin round here. "'I ain't no idee,' says he. 'I left her in the bur'in'-ground, that's all I know.'