“You will let us know on Sunday, then, if they can come,” said Miss Keane; and with cordial good-nights the friends parted.

Early next afternoon Miss Goldthwaite walked up to Thankful Rest on her mission to Miss Hepsy.  That lady was making preserves, for which Lucy had been kept since early morning paring and coring apples and stoning plums.  As Miss Goldthwaite passed the kitchen window, she caught a glimpse of a slight figure almost lost in a huge apron, and a very white, weary-looking face bent over the basket of fruit.  Aunt Hepsy was grimly stirring a panful of plums over the stove, and did not look particularly overjoyed to see Miss Goldthwaite; but Lucy did.

“Always busy, Miss Hepsy,” said Carrie briskly, not choosing to mind the snappy greeting she received.  “I declare I always feel a lazy, good-for-nothing creature when I come to Thankful Rest.—­Here, Lucy child, sit down and let me do your work while I am here; you look tired.”

The quiet eyes raised themselves in loving gratitude to the sweet face, and she was not slow to avail herself of the chance of a moment’s rest.  Miss Hepsy sniffed, but made no audible demur.

“What splendid fruit, Miss Hepsy!” said the visitor after a moment’s silence; “I have seen none like it in Pendlepoint this fall.”

“It’s well enough,” said Miss Hepsy, a little mollified.  “Your folks all well, Miss Goldthwaite?”

“Thank you, yes; and papa and mamma are coming from New York next week, if the weather keeps fine.  I can hardly sleep or eat for joy, Miss Hepsy; and Frank is almost as bad.”

“You be like children about your father and mother yet,” said Miss Hepsy brusquely.  “I reckon you’d better not marry in Pendlepoint, or there’ll be an end to your goin’ home any more.”

Carrie laughed.

“I don’t see why it should come to an end then, Miss Hepsy,” she said.  “Even married people get a holiday sometimes.”

“I guess they don’t see many o’ them,” replied Miss Hepsy.  “I think you’re a fool to marry, anyway, Miss Goldthwaite, when the parson thinks such a heap of you.”

Carrie laughed again, more amused than ever.

“Talking of holidays, Miss Hepsy,” she said, “I want you to give this patient little maiden one, and Tom too.”

“Not if I know it,” answered Miss Hepsy promptly.

“Oh yes you will,” said Miss Goldthwaite serenely.  “We are to have a picnic up the Peak on Monday, in Judge Keane’s waggon.  I’ve set my heart on Lucy and Tom, and half a day is nothing.”

“It makes ’em idle and restless for days, Miss Goldthwaite,” said Aunt Hepsy, with grim decision, “an’ I ain’t a-goin’ to have it, so let it a be.”

Miss Goldthwaite held her peace a moment, and then went straight up to Aunt Hepsy, and, to Lucy’s amazement, laid her two hands on her shoulders and looked into her face with laughing eyes.  “Do you know you are the most disagreeable woman in the township, Miss Hepsy, and that there isn’t another would be so cross with me as you are?  I’ll come up and pare apples for two whole days if you’ll let me have Lucy and Tom.  Look me in the face and refuse me if you dare.”