"Wal, depends upon what you call neighborhood," Mr. Butters replied. "It's two miles by the medders, and four by the ro'd." "Oh!" said Mr. Homer, still more deprecatingly; "I was not aware that the distance was so considerable, Mr. Butters. I conceived that Miss Pitcher's estate and yours were--adjacent;--a--contiguous;--a--in point of fact, near together." "Wal, they ain't," said Mr. Butters; "but if it's anyways important, mebbe I could fetch a compass round that way." "I should be truly grateful if you could do so, Mr. Butters!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I--I feel as if this letter might be of importance, I confess. Miss Pitcher has sent in several times by various neighbors, and I have felt an underlying anxiety in her inquiries. I was rejoiced this morning when the expected letter came. It is--a--in a masculine hand, you will perceive, Mr. Butters, and the postmark is that of the town to which Miss Pitcher's own letters were sent. I do not wish to seem indelicately intrusive, but I confess it has occurred to me that this might be a case of possible misunderstanding; of--a--alienation; of--a--wounding of the tendrils of the heart, gentlemen. To see a young person, especially a young lady, suffer the pangs of hope deferred--" Ithuriel Butters looked at him. "Have you ever seen Leory Pitcher, Homer?" he asked, abruptly. "No, sir, I have not had that pleasure. But from the character of her handwriting (she has the praiseworthy habit of putting her own name on the envelope), I have inferred her youth, and a certain timidity of--" "Wal, she's sixty-five, if she's a day, and she's got a hare-lip and a cock-eye. She's uglier than sin, and snugger than eel-skin; one o' them kind that when you prick 'em they bleed sour milk; and what she wants is for her brother-in-law to send her his wife's clo'es, 'cause he's goin' to marry again. All Shellback's ben talkin' about it these three months." Mr. Homer colored painfully. "Is it so?" he said, dejectedly. "I regret that--that my misconception was so complete. I ask your pardon, Mr. Butters." "Nothin' at all, nothin' at all," said Mr. Butters, briskly, seeing that he had given pain. "You mustn't think I want to say anything against a neighbor, Homer, but there's no paintin' Leory Pitcher pooty, 'cause she ain't. "I ben visitin' with Mis' Tree this mornin'," he added, benevolently; "she's aunt to you, I believe, ain't she?" "Cousin, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, still depressed. "Mrs. Tree and my father were first cousins. A most interesting character, my cousin Marcia, Mr. Butters." "Wal, she is so," responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "She certinly is; ben so all her life. Why, sir, I knew Mis' Tree when she was a gal." "Sho!" said Seth Weaver, incredulously. "Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Homer, with interest.