“Hi, Phoebe!” cried Molly, who was engaged in washing dishes, “how did you git here at this time o’ night?”

“I’d have you know,” said the visitor, with lofty dignity, “that my name is Mrs. Robinson, and if you want to know how I got here, I came in a kerridge.”

“I didn’t hear no kirridge drive up,” said Molly.

“Humph!” said Mrs. Robinson, “I reckon I know which gate is proper for my kerridge to come in, and which gate is proper for the Bannister coachman to drive in.  I suppose there is cooks that would drive up to the front door if the governor’s kerridge was standin’ there.”

Molly looked at the colored woman, with a grin.

“You’re on your high hoss, Mrs. Robinson,” said she.  “That’s what comes o’ boardin’ the minister.  That’s lofty business, Mrs. Robinson, an’ I expect you’re afther gittin’ rich.  Is it the gilt-edged butter you give him for his ash-cakes?”

“A pusson that’s pious,” said Phoebe, “don’t want to get rich onter a minister of the gospel—­”

“Which would be wearin’ on their hopes if they did,” interrupted Molly.

“But I can tell you this,” continued Phoebe, more sharply, “that it isn’t as if I was a Catholic and boardin’ a priest, and had to go on Wednesdays and confess back to him all the money he paid me on Tuesdays.”

Molly laughed aloud.  “We don’t confess money, Mrs. Robinson, we confess sins; but perhaps you think money is a sin, and if that’s so, this house is the innocentest place I ever lived in.  Sit down, Mrs. Robinson, and be friendly.  I want to ax you a question.  Has thim two, upstairs, got any money?  What made you pop off so sudden?  Didn’t they pay your wages?”

Phoebe seated herself on the edge of a chair, and sat up very straight.  She felt that the answer to this question was a very important one.  She herself cared nothing for the Haverleys, but Mike lived with them, and was their head man, and it was not consistent with her position among the members of the congregation and in the various societies to which she belonged, that her husband should be in the employ of poor and consequently unrespected people.

“My wages was paid, every cent,” she said, “and as to their money, I can tell you one thing, that I heard him say to his sister with my own ears, that he was goin’ to build a town on them meaders, with streets and chu’ches, and stores on the corners of the block, and a libr’y and a bank, and she said she wouldn’t object if he left the trees standin’ between the house and the meaders, so that they could see the steeples and nothin’ else.  And more than that, I can tell you,” said Phoebe, warming as she spoke, “the Bannister family isn’t and never was intimate with needy and no-count families, and nobody could be more sociable and friendly with this family than Miss Dora is, writin’ to her four or five times a week, and as I said to Mike, not ten minutes ago, if Mr. Haverley and Miss Dora should git married, her money and his money would make this the finest place in the county, and I tol’ him to mind an’ play his cards well and stay here as butler or coachman—­I didn’t care which; and he said he would like coachman best, as he was used to hosses.”