"I have no doubt it's true," cried Letty. "I allers thought Gilly Rushmere a right handsome feller." "I don't agree with you there, Mrs. Joseph," returned Miss Watling, to whom the grapes had become doubly sour, "he was too red and white to please my taste. His nose was turned up, and his hair decidedly carrotty." The other women looked down in their laps and tittered; the same thought was uppermost in all their minds. Mrs. Joe, who had no delicacy, and hated Nancy Watling, burst into a rude laugh, and gave utterance to her's with the greatest bluntness. "All the parish said that you were over head and ears in love with Gilbert, Nancy; that you made him an offer of marriage yourself; and that he refused you point blank, for Dorothy Chance. Remember, I don't say it's true, but for all that I heard it, and that you have hated both of them like pison ever since." Miss Watling rose indignantly from her seat; her stiff black silk gown rustling ominously; her skinny bony hand extended towards the insolent speaker in defiance, her small bugle eyes eating her up with scorn. For a moment her rage was too great for words; her wrath almost choked her. The ferocious glare fell harmlessly upon little plump Letty, who continued to stuff her boy with rich plum cake. She meant to anger Miss Watling, and secretly enjoyed her discomfiture. "You insignificant, vulgar thing," at length hissed out the offended lady. "How dare you insinuate such vile stories against my character? Who and what are you, that you open your mouth against me? Every one knows the situation you were in, when Mr. Joseph married you, which he did to make an honest woman of you, and by so doing disgraced himself. If I did not respect him and his mother, I would order you out of my house, I would, I would, I would!" "Don't choke yourself, Nancy, and look so ugly at me. See how you frighten the child. Don't cry, Sammy, eat your cake. That's a good boy," patting his curly head. "Miss Watling won't bite you, child," and Letty faced the now clenched hand and scowling brow of the injured lady with an undaunted stare, and a most provoking smile on her red pouting lips. "Ignorant creature," gasped Miss Watling, sinking into her chair; "but what can be expected of a dairy-maid? Mrs. Joe Barford, you are beneath contempt." "Spit out your spite, Nancy. Hard words won't kill a body; I'm used to them. But what's the use of all this fuss? I just told you what folks said of you, and you can't take that, though you speak so hard of others. People will talk--you talk--I talk, and one's just as bad as t'other. In course you culdn't help Gilbert wishing to marry a young maid, instead of an old one. That wor do fault o'yourn; we'd all be young and handsum, if we could." This allusion to her age and personal defects was the unkindest cut of all. Miss Watling put down her cup of tea, leant back in her chair, and cried hysterically.