“Oh, very,” replied Mrs. Bickford; “there was something about him that was very marked. Strangers would always ask who he was as he come into meetin’. His words counted; he never spoke except he had to. ’Twas a relief at first after Mr. Wallis’s being so fluent; but Mr. Wallis was splendid company for winter evenings,—’twould be eight o’clock before you knew it. I didn’t use to listen to it all, but he had a great deal of information. Mr. Bickford was dreadful dignified; I used to be sort of meechin’ with him along at the first, for fear he’d disapprove of me; but I found out ’twa’n’t no need; he was always just that way, an’ done everything by rule an’ measure. He hadn’t the mind of my other husbands, but he was a very dignified appearing man; he used ’most always to sleep in the evenin’s, Mr. Bickford did.” “Them is lovely bo’quets, certain!” exclaimed Miss Pendexter. “Why, I couldn’t tell ’em apart; the flowers are comin’ out just right, aren’t they?” Mrs. Bickford nodded assent, and then, startled by sudden recollection, she cast a quick glance at the rose in the window. “I always seem to forget about your first husband, Mr. Fraley,” Miss Pendexter suggested bravely. “I’ve often heard you speak of him, too, but he’d passed away long before I ever knew you.” “He was but a boy,” said Mrs. Bickford. “I thought the world was done for me when he died, but I’ve often thought since ’twas a mercy for him. He come of a very melancholy family, and all his brothers an’ sisters enjoyed poor health; it might have been his lot. Folks said we was as pretty a couple as ever come into church; we was both dark, with black eyes an’ a good deal o’ color,—you wouldn’t expect it to see me now. Albert was one that held up his head, and looked as if he meant to own the town, an’ he had a good word for everybody. I don’t know what the years might have brought.” There was a long pause. Mrs. Bickford leaned over to pick up a heavy-headed Guelder-rose that had dropped on the floor.