“I have not complained, Mr. May; and nobody can say that I haven’t done by you as if it were my own house that I was living in, and the water-back out of order all the time, and the pipes freezing all the winter; and Mr. Eastman, says he, we must have a furnace fire, and I say no, it ain’t of enough account for us two old people, and so we sit by the kitchen stove, and my sister, Mrs. Tarbox, with her four children and the scarlet fever, over at Roxbury, and nobody to provide for ’em, for John Tarbox--says I to Cynthia when he come up to Augusta from the Provinces (I come from Augusta, Maine, Mr. May), he ain’t but a shiftless fellow, you mark my words, says I; and says she, you let me alone, Miranda, and I’ll do as much by you, s’ she; an’ so it turned out, an’ many’s the time I’ve said to Mr. Eastman, Mr. Eastman, I must go an’ see Cynthia, s’s I, for there she is on her back, with her hands full of children, an’ no one to do for ’em but just John Tarbox; an’ s’s he, Miranda, it would be tempting Providence for you to go with your rheumatism, an’ s’s I, I can’t help that, Mr. Eastman (he’s a member o’ the church, Mr. Eastman), I guess Providence ain’t got no more to say about it than my horse-chestnuts in my dress pocket, an’ I always wear flannel next my skin; an’ s’s I, I’d go, come what may, but for Mr. May’s silver, s’s I (I keep it under my bed, Mr. May, and have slept upon it every mortal night since I took this house), an’ I know I saw a moth in the best parlor last week, an’ the furniture not beaten since April; an’ so six weeks gone since I saw my sister; an’ since there’s a foreigner in the kitchen, s’ I to Mr. Eastman, Mr. Eastman----” “My dear Mrs. Eastman,” interposed May, gently, “I had no idea you thought it necessary to stick so close to the house. Now I beg that you will go at once. My servant will get all I want for dinner. You and Mr. Eastman must both go, and don’t think of coming back before to-morrow--haven’t you any other visits to pay?”