Then she got straight out of that phaeton she drives in, and come up to my hoss, and says she, 'Andy, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to make a hoss work when he is in a condition like that. Take him right back to your stable, or I'll have you up before a justice.' 'Now look here, Miss Panney,' says I, 'which is the best, for a hoss to jog a little round town when he ain't feeling quite well, or for a man to sit idle on his front doorstep and see his family starve?' 'Now, Andy,' says she, 'is that the case with you?' and havin' brought up the pint myself, I was obliged to say that it was. 'Very good, then,' said she, and she took her roan mare by the head and led it up to the curbstone. 'Now then,' said she, 'you can take your hoss out of the cab and put this hoss in, and you can drive her till your hoss gets well, and durin' that time I'll walk.' "Well, of course I didn't do that, and I took my hoss back to the stable, and my family didn't starve nuther; but I just tell you this to show you what sort of a woman Miss Panney is." "I should think she was a very estimable person," said Mrs. Drane. "Oh, there's nothin' the matter with her estimation," said Andy. "That's level enough. I only told you that to show you how you can always expect her to turn up unexpected." "Mrs. Brinkly spoke of Miss Panney," said Cicely; "she said that she was the first one to come and see her about rooms for us." "That was certainly very kind," said Mrs. Drane, "considering that she does not know us at all, except through Dr. Tolbridge. I remember his speaking of her." "That place over there," said Andy, "you can jest see the tops of the chimneys, that's called Cobhurst; that's where old Matthias Butterwood used to live. It was an awful big house for one man, but he was queer. There's nobody livin' there now but two young people, sort of temporary, I guess, though the place belongs to 'em. I don't think they are any too well off. They don't give us hack-drivers much custom, never havin' any friends comin' or goin', or trunks or anything. He's got no other business, they say, and don't know no more about farmin' than a potato knows about preachin'. There's nothin' on the place that amounts to anything except the barn. There's a wonderful barn there, that old Butterwood spent nobody knows how much money on, and he a bachelor. You can't see the barn from here, but I'll drive you where you can get a good look at it." In a few minutes, he made a turn, and whipped up his horse to a better speed, and before Mrs. Drane and her daughter could comprehend the state of affairs, they were rolling over a not very well kept private road, and approaching the front of a house. "Where are you going, driver?" exclaimed Mrs. Drane, leaning forward in astonishment. Andy turned his beaming countenance upon her, and flourished his whip.