“I don’t believe the Queen ever saw such a lonesome trail as this,” said Mrs. Todd, as if she followed the thoughts that were in my mind. Our visit to Mrs. Abby Martin seemed in some strange way to concern the high affairs of royalty. I had just been thinking of English landscapes, and of the solemn hills of Scotland with their lonely cottages and stone-walled sheepfolds, and the wandering flocks on high cloudy pastures. I had often been struck by the quick interest and familiar allusion to certain members of the royal house which one found in distant neighborhoods of New England; whether some old instincts of personal loyalty have survived all changes of time and national vicissitudes, or whether it is only that the Queen’s own character and disposition have won friends for her so far away, it is impossible to tell. But to hear of a twin sister was the most surprising proof of intimacy of all, and I must confess that there was something remarkably exciting to the imagination in my morning walk. To think of being presented at Court in the usual way was for the moment quite commonplace. III. Mrs. Todd was swinging her basket to and fro like a schoolgirl as she walked, and at this moment it slipped from her hand and rolled lightly along the ground as if there were nothing in it. I picked it up and gave it to her, whereupon she lifted the cover and looked in with anxiety. “’Tis only a few little things, but I don’t want to lose ’em,” she explained humbly. “’Twas lucky you took the other basket if I was goin’ to roll it round. Mis’ Abby Martin complained o’ lacking some pretty pink silk to finish one o’ her little frames, an’ I thought I’d carry her some, and I had a bunch o’ gold thread that had been in a box o’ mine this twenty year. I never was one to do much fancy work, but we’re all liable to be swept away by fashion. And then there’s a small packet o’ very choice herbs that I gave a good deal of attention to; they’ll smarten her up and give her the best of appetites, come spring. She was tellin’ me that spring weather is very wiltin’ an’ tryin’ to her, and she was beginnin’ to dread it already. Mother’s just the same way; if I could prevail on mother to take some o’ these remedies in good season ’twould make a world o’ difference, but she gets all down hill before I have a chance to hear of it, and then William comes in to tell me, sighin’ and bewailin’, how feeble mother is. ‘Why can’t you remember ’bout them good herbs that I never let her be without?’ I say to him—he does provoke me so; and then off he goes, sulky enough, down to his boat. Next thing I know, she comes in to go to meetin’, wantin’ to speak to everybody and feelin’ like a girl. Mis’ Martin’s case is very much the same; but she’s nobody to watch her. William’s kind o’ slow-moulded; but there, any William’s better than none when you get to be Mis’ Martin’s age.” “Hadn’t she any children?” I asked.