“Oh, Aunt Marthe!” cried Evadne, as she drove slowly under the trees, “shall I ever, ever learn to be like you?”

She found the old lady sitting by the fire wrapped up in a shawl, although the day was sultry.

“Good-morning,” said Evadne, as she deposited her parcels on the table.  “I come from Mrs. Everidge.  She thought you would fancy some of her fresh brown bread and currant jelly.”

“Hum!” said the old lady ungraciously, “I hope it’s better than the last wuz.  Guess Mis’ Everidge ain’t ez pertickler ez she used ter be.”

“Aunt Marthe!” cried Evadne indignantly.  “Why, everything she does is perfection!”

“Land, child!  There ain’t no perfecshun in this world.  It’s all a wale, a wale o’ tears.  We’se poor, miserable critters,—­wurms o’ the dust,—­that’s what we be.”

“There isn’t any worm about Aunt Marthe,” cried Evadne with a laugh.  “I think you must be looking through a wrong pair of spectacles, Mrs. Riggs.”

“Land, child!  I ain’t got but the one pair, an’ they got broke this morning.  But it’s jest my luck.  Everything goes agin me.”

“But you can get them mended,” said Evadne.

“Sakes alive!  There ain’t much hope o’ gettin’ them mended, with Penel behindhand on the rent, an’ the firin’ an’ the land knows what else.  I don’t see why Penel ain’t more forehanded.  I tell her ef I wuz ez young an’ ez spry ez she be, I guess I’d hev things different, but, la! that’s Penel’s way.  She’s terrible sot in her own way, Penel is.  She’s not willin’ ter take my advice.  Children now-a-days allers duz know more than their mothers.”

“Where is Penelope?” asked Evadne.

“Oh, skykin’ round.  She’s gone over to Miss Johnsing’s ter help with the quiltin’.  That’s the way she duz, an’ here I am all alone with the fire ter tend ter, an’ not a livin’ soul ter do a hand’s turn fer me!  She sez she hez ter do it ter keep the pot bilin’—­’pears ter me Penel’s pots take a sight uv bilin’.”

“But she has left a nice pile of wood close beside you, Mrs. Riggs.”

“La, yes,” grumbled the old lady, “but it’s dretful thoughtless in her ter stay away so long, when she knows the stoopin’ cums so hard on my rheumatiz.  An’ it’s terrible lonesome.  I get that narvous some days I’m all of a shake.  ‘Tain’t ez ef she kep within’ call, but t’other day she went clean over ter Hancocks,—­a hull mile an’ a half!  She sez she hez ter go where folks wants things done, but that’s nonsense, folks oughter want things done near at hand,—­they know how lonesome I be.  Why, a bear might cum in an’ eat me up for all Penel would know.  She gits so taken up a’ larfin’ an’ singin’, she ain’t got no sympathy.  Oh, it’s a wale o’ tears!”

“But there are no bears in Vernon, Mrs. Riggs,” laughed Evadne.

“Land, child! you never know what there might be!” said the old lady testily.  “Be you a’ stayin’ at Mis’ Everidge’s?”