"I've seen it," said the old lady, while her very cap-strings fluttered with indignation, "and it has provoked me a thousand times more than if she had thrown a brick-bat at my head. That girl is no fool, doctor. She knows very well what she is about: but diamond cut diamond, _I_ say. Doctor, doctor, there are the hens in the garden. I want that garden kept nice. I suppose Ruth thinks that nobody can have flowers but herself. Wait till my china-asters and sweet peas come up. I'm going over to-day to take a peep round her house; I wonder what it looks like? Stuck full of gimcracks, of all sorts, I'll warrant. Well, I shan't furnish my best parlor till I see what she has got. I've laid by a little money, and--" "Better give it to the missionaries, Mis. Hall," growled the doctor; "I tell you Ruth don't care a pin what you have in your parlor." "Don't you believe it," said the old lady. "Well, anyhow," muttered the doctor, "you can't get the upper hand of _her_ in that line; i. e., if she has a mind that you shall not. Harry is doing a very good business; and you know very well, it is no use to try to blind your eyes to it, that if she wanted Queen Victoria's sceptre, he'd manage to get it for her." "That's more than I can say of _you_," exclaimed the old lady, fanning herself violently; "for all that I used to mend your old saddle-bags, and once made, with my own hands, a pair of leather small-clothes to ride horseback in. Forty years, doctor, I've spent in your service. I don't look much as I did when you married me. I was said then to have 'woman's seven beauties,' including the 'dimple in the chin,' which I see still remains;" and the old lady pointed to a slight indentation in her wrinkled face. "I might have had him that was Squire Smith, or Pete Packer, or Jim Jessup. There wasn't one of 'em who had not rather do the chores on _our_ farm, than on any other in the village." "Pooh, pooh," said the doctor, "don't be an old fool; that was because your father kept good cider." Mrs. Hall's cap-strings were seen flying the next minute through the sitting-room door; and the doctor was heard to mutter, as she banged the door behind her, "_that_ tells the whole story!" CHAPTER XIII. "A summer house, hey!" said the old lady, as with stealthy, cat-like steps, she crossed a small piece of woods, between her house and Ruth's; "a summer house! that's the way the money goes, is it? What have we here? a book;" (picking up a volume which lay half hidden in the moss at her feet;) "poetry, I declare! the most frivolous of all reading; all pencil marked;--and here's something in Ruth's own hand-writing--_that's_ poetry, too: worse and worse."