“Well, the corn came up, and the blades waved in the long fields in the June air, and the robins sang everywhere. I was spry that summer, and everywhere I went there arose before me a vision of that camlet cloak. Not that I wanted such a cloak, but I wanted the people to have some regard for me, and what the Deacon said stood for that. Everybody likes to be thought something of sometime. “The blades of corn turned at last into silk and tassels, and then it was September, and every kernel that had been planted under the April skies had produced an ear, and some two. The green fields turned yellow and rustled, and the crickets piped and the birds sang their last song and flew away. Then came Indian summer, and the Thanksgiving days were near at hand. It had been a prosperous year, and the Deacon’s ship had come in with its gun booming. “One day the stage came lumbering up the Heights, and the driver drew up the reins before my door, and looked under the great leather boot where the mail-bags were, and brought out a large box, and called,— “‘Susan, here—I’ve got something for ye, from Newport.’ “‘That’s passing strange,’ said I, throwing my apron over my head. ‘I haven’t any near of kin in Newport.’ “‘Friends,’ said he. “‘Friends?’ said I. ‘I haven’t many of them anywhere, as for that matter; they’re as scarce as hen’s teeth in this world where there’s so much selfishness. But I hadn’t ought to complain; we all of us get treated better than we deserve. The Lord forgive me for saying such things as those! This is a good world.’ “He handed down a package. “‘Guess it came from foreign parts,’ said he. ‘Do the best you can, Susan, so that when this bothersome life is all over you will—you will—Go lang;’ and he was out of sight in quick time, the wheels rattling over the stony hill. “I took the package into the house, and opened it, all alone. Could I believe my eyes? It was a camlet cloak, all made of silk and camel’s hair, and grand enough to have bedecked a queen, and large enough to cover my whole body. “I first thought that I would just sink right down on my knees and pray. Then my vanity got the better of me, and I held up the cloak before the looking-glass; my cap-border rose when I thought how fine I would look going up the steps of the old church with that garment covering me, like a picture of Queen Vashti in the Bible. “While I was standing there, grand as a drum-major at a general training, who should come in but old Elder Almy, of Portsmouth Farms. “‘What has thee got there, Susan?’ said he, looking up queerly from under the broad brim of his hat. “‘A royal garment fit for a queen,’ said I. ‘Look there, Elder Almy—a camlet cloak!’