“Oh, I think it was ever so much more interesting than John’s suspenders,” said Polly, breathlessly. “I never heard anything so wonderful that happened to a little girl, Miss Arctura.” Miss Green loosened the ruffle at her neck and slowly drew up a slender chain on the end of which something dangled. “Suspenders wear out, even the best of ’em,” she said, softly leaning toward her little guest. “You look at that. My father bored a hole in it, and marm gave me this chain that was her marm’s, and I’ve worn it from that day to this.” “And mind you,” said Miss Green, as Polly looked with awe at the little gold-piece, kept shining by Arctura’s loving care, “whenever the Square was a mite cross or unreasonable those last years, from his mind getting tangled, I’d put my hand over this little dangling thing, and I’d say to myself, ‘Arctura Green, who gave you the proudest day you ever knew as a little girl?’ and ’twould warm my heart up in a minute. There’s some that forgets, but, with all my faults, I ain’t one of the number.” CHAPTER XVI POLLY’S LETTER When Father Manser returned from his trip to the post-office the next evening he found the residents at Manser Farm, with the exception of his melancholy spouse, gathered in the kitchen. Mrs. Manser had gone to bed with a headache, but her absence failed to cast a gloom over the company. It was the most cheerful evening that had been known since Polly left them, for Uncle Blodgett had not only read the weekly “Sentinel” in so clear a tone that even Grandma Manser, near whom he sat, could hear, but he had, after urging, recited several poems. “I admire to hear battle-pieces,” said Aunty Peebles, just as the door swung open to admit Father Manser. “When you spoke that ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ it gave me chills all along my spine, and made me feel as if I could step right forth to war.” “I expect you wouldn’t be a very murderous character, though, come to get you on the field of battle,” said Uncle Blodgett, good-naturedly. “Now, there’s Mis’ Ramsdell, I reckon she’d make a good fighter if she was put to it.” “I come of war stock,” said Mrs. Ramsdell, her black eyes snapping, and nostrils dilating as she acknowledged the compliment. “My father and his three brothers were in the war of 1812, and back of that their parents and uncles were in the thick of ’76, and led wherever they were.” “Ain’t you kind of reckless, speaking of ‘parents’ that way?” inquired Uncle Blodgett. “Did your grandmarm conduct a regiment, or what was her part in the proceedings?” Mrs. Ramsdell directed a look of withering scorn at her old friend, but her eye caught sight of a package in Father Manser’s hand and she was suddenly alert. “What you got there?” she demanded, and at once all the old heads turned toward the new-comer. Usually they took no special note of Father Manser’s return, as there were scarcely ever any letters, and they well knew the paper must be Mrs. Manser’s spoil for the evening.