“You see, my Miss Flora and Mr. Aimé who live here were part Swiss and part Scotch. Their pa was a Swiss gentleman, a descendant of the great patriot, Mr. Arnold von Winkelried, and their ma was a Scotland girl, and they lived in a shally in Switzerland till their pa passed over. Then their ma, bein’ raised in Scotland, begun to hanker after the heather--that’s a little pink flower--or sometimes white. Wal, back she went, and it kicked up a prodigious muss with their pa’s brother, and the joke of it is, their uncle--the old bach, him who’s just gone--procrastinated one day too many and passed over sudden, without a will, and my Miss Flora and Mr. Aimé possess all that property! They inhabited Scotland as long as their ma lived; then they came out to New York and sojourned there until Mr. Aimé got to be a lawyer and my Miss Flora learned to be a beautiful singer--oh, you ought to hear her! I don’t ever expect to hear anybody sing like her till I get to heaven. My, can’t she sing! Wal, where was I? Oh, yes! They wanted to be out in God’s country, and they built here. They had an appalling time gettin’ somebody to do their cookin’ till I come--that was five years ago, when my twin passed over. My twin--his name was Benedict--lived down the mountain a piece, and after his wife was gone I resided with him and took care of the kids. Ben was always grumpy and he kep’ sayin’ he was going pretty quick, pretty quick, and one day I said I sh’d think he’d try to hold on a while longer, funerals were so inordinately expensive just then, and he said he didn’t see much use in waitin’ when anybody felt as bad as he did. But I could see he exhilarated up a bit, and he stayed quite a period after that. My Miss Flora and Mr. Aimé came for me before he passed over; but I said no, I’d stay till he got through. After a while he had a stroke, and we buried him right out front. Maybe you saw it comin’ up.... Yes, a little brown house with a red barn alongside of it and the graves across the road. That’s the place. My nephew, Young Ben, sojourns there now. I get all our milk of him. He’s got three Guernsey cows, and they’re amazin’ healthy--sinners and snobs! I forgot!” Benedicta ran a short race with time, and won, for her voice came back to them, “Ain’t I the lucky one! A minute more, and they’d been goners sure!” “Say!” Clementina pulled Polly’s sleeve, “Miss Dudley, when she comes back, you shut her off! I want to talk.” Polly shook her head soberly, though Russell’s eyes were dancing, and the next moment Benedicta returned and with no word of explanation resumed her story.