Great was the wrath in the virgin bosoms of the Misses Bute when the flight of Betsy and her dark-eyed lover was discovered. Miss Duty relieved her feelings by a furious bout of house-cleaning, and scrubbed and scoured as if she were determined to purge the house from the very memory of Bijah Green. But Miss Resigned Elizabeth had a touch of rheumatism, and could not take refuge in that solace of womankind. She could only sit and fret, poor soul, and wish she had some one to talk it over with. Dear to goodness! Come times like this, one did feel forsaken. Miss Resigned Elizabeth almost felt that she could make up with her sister, for the sake of the common cause of anger they now had. She glanced across the way, as she huddled up in her shawl, taking the sun on the back-porch. If she had seen any softness in the lines of Miss Duty's back, as she stood washing windows on her own porch, Miss Resigned Elizabeth almost felt as if she could cough, or perhaps even speak, just to pass the time of day. But Miss Duty's back was as rigid as her principles; and though she knew well enough that her sister was near, she gave no sign of consciousness. The younger sister felt forlorn and old, and drew her shawl closer around her, as if a cold air blew from that stiff figure on the other porch. But 'twas warmer here than in the house, anyway. The house seemed strangely cold and cheerless since Betsy went away. There was no one singing in the little pantry, or making a cheerful clatter among the milk-pails. If Miss Resigned Elizabeth had only known how things were going to turn out, she would never have hired a girl; but now, it didn't seem as if she could get along without one,--coming winter, too.