"Why, the night-gown must have stuck to my shawl when we laid Anna's baby in your bed up stairs. Everything was tossed about, you know; and I am always catching to briars and things every time I move. Never could go a blackberrying with other gals, but the first thing they were calling out, 'that Salina had got a bean' and there would be a great long briar dragging to the bottom of my frock. It was my luck always to have things hanging onto me. I wish you could see the ticks and burdock leaves that I have picked off from this identical dress since harvest." Aunt Hannah drew herself up a little more freely, but it was some moments before she spoke. "Did you keep the night-gown?" she inquired. "Yes, I hadn't the heart to bring it here at the time, so I locked it up in the till of my chest, and there it lies yet, as yellow as saffron. Would you like to have it now?" "No," answered aunt Hannah, "what should I have it for? keep it safe just as it is; who knows but it may be wanted yet?" Salina drew herself primly up, and observed that if the best man in York State was to offer himself to her, he would get sent about his business in double quick time. Aunt Hannah raised her eyes, with a heavy questioning look, but dropped them again without in the least comprehending the drift of Salina's thoughts. "No," said the spinster, stoutly. "It's of no use looking at me in that way; if every hair of his head was hung with diamonds, I wouldn't have him. It's no use asking me, I'm a sot cretur where I am sot, aunt Hannah." While Salina was moving her head up and down, with a force that almost dislodged the horn-comb from her fiery tresses, a clap of thunder shook the house to its foundations, and sheets of lightning rushed athwart the windows. "Nathan, where is my brother Nathan?" cried aunt Hannah, starting to her feet. "No, it's of no use calling even him," persisted Salina, unmindful of both thunder and lightning. "The face of a man can't change me; you needn't call him, I tell you it's of no use, I'm flint." "The old hemlock is in flames again!" cried aunt Hannah, rushing through the porch, "and Nathan's chair empty. Is this thunderbolt for him? Nathan! Nathan!" By the light of the stricken hemlock, she saw her brother coming toward the porch, holding Mary Fuller by the hand. "Come, brother, come!" she cried, stretching forth her arms, "you are all that I have left." Nathan heard his sister, and came toward her. She saw that he was safe, and her old manner returned. "Come," she said, opening the kitchen door, "it is time for prayers." "Yes, let us pray," said uncle Nathan, solemnly, "for truly, God speaketh to us in the thunder and the lightning." Salina, who had remained standing in the room, was so struck by the unusual sadness of every face around her, that for the time she forgot herself. There was something in uncle Nathan's face that she had never seen before, a depth and intensity of feeling that held even her rude strength in awe.