“‘’Tis sweet to be remembered,’” quoted Peg gallantly. Miss Cottle sighed deeply; then started as if suddenly frightened by her own thoughts. “What,” she demanded, dropping her basket, which was fortunately empty, “did I say?” “W’y, nothin’ in pertic’lar, ma’am,” replied Peg. “You was speakin’ o’ disposin’ o’ th’ onions, an’——” “Yes; but I called you by your Christian name. I called you—_Peleg!_ What _must_ you think of me?” “Ev’rybody mostly calls me Peleg, er Peg. I ain’t pertic’lar es t’ that. But how ’bout them onions? You was sayin’——” “I was about to inform you that my brother-in-law’s nephew is connected with the Washington Market in New York City,” said Miss Cottle, with a long, quivering sigh. “I had thought of writing to him, if you cared to have me. I should be _glad_ to do _something_—for you, Peleg. There! I’ve said it again.” “It’s mighty kind of you to write t’ your relation. I’m bleeged t’ you, ma’am. Washin’ton Market, Noo York City, soun’s good t’ me. But d’ye s’pose the’s folks enough thar t’ eat all them onions?” He shook his head doubtfully. “The loft t’ the kerridge house is full of ’em, an’ the hay barn floor’s covered, an’ the’s a lot more in the ground, es I was sayin’.” Miss Cottle seated herself on an upturned bushel-basket and gazed earnestly at the successful grower of onions. “I wish to talk to you _seriously_, Mr. Morrison, on a subject _very near my heart_,” she said. “Will you not sit down on this box”—indicating a place at her side—“and listen?” “I’d ought t’ be gittin’ them onions out th’ groun’,” protested Peg, with a wary glint in his eye. But he sat down gingerly on the edge of the box. “I’ve been thinking _deeply_ on the situation here on the farm,” pursued Miss Cottle. “I do not feel that I am doing _right_ to remain here longer, _under the circumstances_.” Peg fumbled the rampant locks behind his left ear, in a fashion he had when perplexed. “Under the circumstances,” he repeated dubiously. “The circumstances is all right; ain’t they?” “I appear to have dropped into the position of hired girl to Barbara Preston,” pursued the spinster acidly. “She did her own work previous to my coming; now I do most of it. But that isn’t all; I was engaged as housekeeper and caretaker for that boy. She was to go away and _stay_ for five years.” “Mebbe she’ll go soon now,” hazarded Peg. He shook his head slowly. “Kind o’ funny ’bout that business,” he murmured. “I dunno who in creation bid her in.” “I shouldn’t mind that so much,” pursued Miss Cottle, “but——” She paused dramatically to allow the full force of her remark to fall on the unsuspecting man. “There’s been considerable talk in the village lately—_about you and me_. It’s come to me straight.” “No!” exclaimed Peg, hastily gaining his legs and feeling for his pipe in his rear breeches pocket with agitated haste. “Don’t you believe it, ma’am.”