“Well, I’m sure it’s a great mercy to see anybody rise above their trouble the way you do; but, law me!  Miss Langdon, you a’n’t got through the fust pair o’ bars on’t yet.  Folks is allers kinder neighborly at the fust; they feel to help you right off, every way they can,—­but it don’t stay put, they get tired on’t; they blaze right up like a white-birch-stick, an’ then they go out all of a heap; there’s other folks die, and they don’t remember you, and you’re just as bad off as though you wa’n’t a widder.”

Mother kind of smiled,—­she couldn’t help it; but she spoke up again just as steady.

“I don’t expect to depend on people, Miss Perrit, so long as I have my health.  I a’n’t above takin’ friendly help when I need to, but I mean mostly to help myself.  I can get work to take in, and when the girls have got their schoolin’ they will be big enough to help me.  I am not afraid but what I shall live and prosper, if I only keep my health.”

“Hem, well!” whined out Miss Perrit.  “I allers thought you was a pretty mighty woman, Miss Langdon, and I’m glad to see you’re so high-minded; but you a’n’t sure of your health, never.  I used to be real smart to what I am now, when Perrit was alive; but I took on so, when he was brought home friz to death that it sp’iled my nerves; and then I had to do so many chores out in the shed, I got cold and had the dreadfullest rheumatiz! and when I’d got past the worst spell of that and was quite folksy again, I slipped down on our door-step and kinder wrenched my ankle, and ef’t hadn’t ‘a’ been for the neighbors, I don’t know but what Nancy and I should ‘a’ starved.”

Mother did laugh this time.  Miss Perrit had overshot the mark.

“So the neighbors were helpful, after all!” said she.  “And if ever I get sick, I shall be willin’ to have help, Miss Perrit.  I’m sure I would take what I would give; I think givin’ works two ways.  I don’t feel afraid yet.”

Miss Perrit groaned a little, and wiped her eyes, and got up to go away.  She hadn’t never offered to help mother, and she went off to the sewing-circle and told that Miss Langdon hadn’t got no feelings at all, and she b’lieved she’d just as soon beg for a livin’ as not.  Polly Mariner, the tailoress, come and told mother all she said next day, but mother only smiled, and set Polly to talkin’ about the best way to make over her old cloak.  When she was gone, I begun to talk about Miss Perrit, and I was real mad; but mother hushed me right up.

“It a’n’t any matter, Ann,” said she.  “Her sayin’ so don’t make it so.  Miss Perrit’s got a miserable disposition, and I’m sorry for her; a mint of money wouldn’t make her happy; she’s a doleful Christian, she don’t take any comfort in anything, and I really do pity her.”

And that was just the way mother took everything.