“Well, well, wasn’t that a party last night?” she said, as she sat down with the black silk and prepared her ripping-knife.—­“I must rip this myself, Miss Scudder; for there’s a great deal in ripping silk so as not to let anybody know where it has been sewed.—­You didn’t know that I was at the party, did you?  Well, I was.  You see, I thought I’d just step round there, to see about that money to get the Doctor’s shirt with, and there I found Miss Wilcox with so many things on her mind, and says she, ’Miss Prissy, you don’t know how much it would help me if I had somebody like you just to look after things a little here.’  And says I, ’Miss Wilcox, you just go right to your room and dress, and don’t you give yourself one minute’s thought about anything, and you see if I don’t have everything just right.’  And so, there I was, in for it; and I just staid through, and it was well I did,—­for Dinah, she wouldn’t have put near enough egg into the coffee, if it hadn’t been for me; why, I just went and beat up four eggs with my own hands and stirred ’em into the grounds.

“Well,—­but, really, wasn’t I behind the door, and didn’t I peep into the supper-room?  I saw who was a-waitin’ on Miss Mary.  Well, they do say he’s the handsomest, most fascinating man.  Why, they say all the ladies in Philadelphia are in a perfect quarrel about him; and I heard he said he hadn’t seen such a beauty he didn’t remember when.”

“We all know that beauty is of small consequence,” said Mrs. Scudder.  “I hope Mary has been brought up to feel that.”

“Oh, of course,” said Miss Prissy, “it’s just like a fading flower; all is to be good and useful,—­and that’s what she is.  I told ’em that her beauty was the least part of her; though I must say, that dress did fit like a biscuit,—­if ’twas my own fitting.

“But, Miss Scudder, what do you think I heard ’em saying about the good Doctor?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Mrs. Scudder; “I only know they couldn’t say anything bad.”

“Well, not bad exactly,” said Miss Prissy,—­“but they say he’s getting such strange notions in his head.  Why, I heard some of ’em say, he’s going to come out and preach against the slave-trade; and I’m sure I don’t know what Newport folks will do, if that’s wicked.  There a’n’t hardly any money here that’s made any other way; and I hope the Doctor a’n’t a-going to do anything of that sort.”

“I believe he is,” said Mrs. Scudder; “he thinks it’s a great sin, that ought to be rebuked;—­and I think so too,” she added, bracing herself resolutely; “that was Mr. Scudder’s opinion when I first married him, and it’s mine.”

“Oh,—­ah,—­yes,—­well,—­if it’s a sin, of course,” said Miss Prissy; “but then—­dear me!—­it don’t seem as if it could be.  Why, just think how many great houses are living on it;—­why, there’s General Wilcox himself, and he’s a very nice man; and then there’s Major Seaforth; why, I could count you off a dozen,—­all our very