"And that skinny woman, now whatever was her name? She looked almost plump in her new dress last Sunday." As she stopped to thread her needle, she gave utterance to the thought which at that moment occupied her mind. "I b'lieve I'll go over to call on Mrs. Weston to-night, and p'raps she'll ask me to help her, in fact, I should think she'd _have_ to." A passing figure caused her to look out of the window. "Well what a looking piece of headgear!" she remarked. "Lucky I took up millinery when I was learning dressmakin'. I'll go over to the Weston's to-night, see if I don't," and she nodded approvingly to her reflection in the long mirror, a bit of furniture which Janie had felt to be a necessary adjunct to her rooms. Even old Mrs. Brimblecom had a word to say. "I declare, Jabez," she remarked at the dinner table, "I'm reel glad fer Randy Weston. This doos seem ter be a chance fer her ter see somethin' an' gain a leetle extry in the way of edication." "Umph!" remarked Jabez, as he helped himself to a third potato, "'S you say, it's a chance fer her, an' she's a likely sort er girl,--pass the salt, will ye?--but I hope it won't poke her head full er notions,--I'll thank ye fer a biscuit,--so's when she comes home she won't remember who any of us be." At the table Jabez Brimblecom's conversation was always a mixture of gossip and numerous requests for food, so that his wife, accustomed to this trait, was able to understand what he wished to say, and could make connected meaning out of what seemed to be a jumble of ideas. "Oh, Randy will be Randy wherever she is," said Mrs. Brimblecom. "Wal, I guess she will,--I'll take a leetle more tea," replied Jabez. "And one of the best girls I ever knew," said his wife. "I've always known ye set a store by Randy,--I'm ready fer pie naow," replied Jabez, and when he had finished his dinner, he darted out of the house as if in another moment the farm would have been ruined had it not received his immediate attention. Every one who met Randy stopped her saying, "Got a letter from Boston, didn't ye?" until Prue who was usually with her would say, "Why, Randy, how _does_ everybody know you got a letter?" "In the same way that everyone knows everything in this village," Randy would answer with a laugh. In the midst of all this excitement Randy walked as if on air. Could it be true, really true that she, Randy Weston, was actually going to Boston? The letter which had filled Randy's heart with delight had come from her friend Helen Dayton, the lovely young girl who had spent one summer as a guest of Mrs. Gray, a near neighbor of the Weston's. She had made a flying trip to the village at Christmas, bringing with her the choicest of gifts for Randy and Prue, assuring Randy that they should soon meet again. Randy had thought much of the promise, but never dreamed of so delightful a fulfilment.