"Madam," he said, "that mill-dam made its channel when the hills around had their first foundation. You must not find fault with the workmanship, for God himself made it." "Indeed, you surprise me," cried the lady, taking out her glass and leaning forward, "I really supposed it must be the result of some of those logging bees that we hear of in these back settlements. I quite long to witness something of the kind; it must be gratifying, Judge, to see your peasantry enjoy themselves on these rustic occasions." "My peasantry," laughed the Judge, as much ashamed of the angry feelings with which his last speech had been given, as if he had been caught whipping a lap-dog--"my constituents, you mean." "Oh, yes, of course, I mean anything that you call that sort of people--constituents, is it?" "My wife and I call that sort of people neighbors." "Indeed," cried Mrs. Farnham, dropping her glass and leaning back as one who bends beneath a sudden blow; "I thought you were to be _my_ neighbors." "If you will permit us," said the Judge, laughing; "but here is your house, and there stands the housekeeper ready to receive you." Mrs. Farnham brightened, and began to gather up her shawl and embroidered satchel, like one who was becoming weary of her companions. "This is really very nice," she said, looking up to the huge square building lifted from the road by half a dozen terraces, and crowned with a tall cupola; "depend on it, I shall make it quite a Paradise, Judge. I'm glad it's out of sight of your mill--your waterfall--I hate sounds that never stop." "How she must hate her own pattering voice," thought the Judge, as he helped the lady in her descent from the carriage. "And the housekeeper, I thought she was here." "And so I am, ma'am," answered a slight, little woman, with a freckled complexion, and immense quantities of red hair gathered back of her head in the fangs of a huge comb that had been fashionable twenty-five years before; "been a-waiting at that identical front door full on to an hour, expecting you every minet; but better late than never. You're welcome, ma'am, as scraps to a beggar's basket." It was laughable--the look of indignant astonishment with which the widow regarded her housekeeper, as in the simple honesty of her heart she uttered this welcome. "And pray, who engaged you to take charge here? Could no more suitable person be found?" "Who engaged me, ma'am, me? why I grew up here--never was engaged in my hull life, and never will be till men are more worth having." "But how came you here as my housekeeper?" "Well, sort of nat'rally, ma'am, as children take the measles; bein' as I was in the house, I just let 'em call me what they're a mind to; hain't quite got used to the name yet, but it'll soon fit on with practice. Come, now, walk in, and make yourself to home."