A nearer approach disclosed to view a slanting-roofed farmhouse such as is often found in New England, with high, narrow windows, small panes of glass, and the most indispensable paper curtains of blue closely shading the windows of what was probably the “best room.”  In the apartment opposite, however, they were rolled up, so as to show the old-fashioned drapery of dimity, bordered with a netted fringe.  Half a dozen broken pitchers and pots held geraniums, verbenas, and other plants, while the well-kept beds of hollyhocks, sunflowers, and poppies indicated a taste for flowers in someone.  Everything about the house was faultlessly neat.  The doorsill was scrubbed to a chalky white, while the uncovered floor wore the same polished hue.

All this Madam Conway saw at a glance, but it did not prevent her from holding high her aristocratic skirts, lest they should be contaminated, and when, in answer to her knock, an odd-looking, peculiarly dressed woman appeared, she uttered an exclamation of disgust, and, turning to Maggie, said, “You talk—­I can’t!”

But the woman did not stand at all upon ceremony.  For the last ten minutes she had been watching the strangers as they toiled over the sandy road, and when sure they were coming there had retreated into her bedroom, donning a flaming red calico, which, guiltless of hoops, clung to her tenaciously, showing her form to good advantage, and rousing at once the risibility of Maggie.  A black lace cap, ornamented with ribbons of the same fanciful color as the dress, adorned her head; and, with a dozen or more pins in her mouth, she now appeared, hooking her sleeve and smoothing down the black collar upon her neck.

In a few words Maggie explained to her their misfortune, and asked permission to tarry there until the carriage was repaired.

“Certing, certing,” answered the woman, courtesying almost to the floor.  “Walk right in, if you can git in.  It’s my cheese day, or I should have been cleared away sooner.  Here, Betsy Jane, you have prinked long enough; come and hist the winders in t’other room, and wing ’em off, so the ladies can set in there out of this dirty place;” then turning to Madam Conway, who was industriously freeing her French kids from the sand they had accumulated during her walk, she continued, “Have some of my shoes to rest your feet a spell”; and diving into a recess or closet she brought forth a pair of slippers large enough to hold both of Madam Conway’s feet at once.

With a haughty frown the lady declined the offer, while Maggie looked on in delight, pleased with an adventure which promised so much fun.  After a moment Betsy Jane appeared, attired in a dress similar to that of her mother, for whose lank appearance she made ample amends, in the wonderful expansion of her robes, which, minus gather or fold at the bottom, set out like a miniature tent, upsetting at once the bandbox, which Madam Conway had placed upon a chair, and which, with its contents, rolled promiscuously over the floor!