“I’ve made bold to come down to-night, sir,” she said, fixing her keen eyes on Mr. Goldthwaite’s pleasant face, “knowin’ you was goin’ to Newhaven to-morrow, to ask if you would do Josh and me a kindness.”

“If I can, Miss Strong,” returned the minister courteously, “be sure I shall be very glad to do so.”

“You’ve heard tell, I reckon,” said Miss Hepsy, “of our sister Hetty as married the schoolmaster in Newhaven?”

Mr. Goldthwaite nodded.

“Well, she’s dead,” continued Miss Hepsy with a business-like stolidity inexplicable to Carrie Goldthwaite’s warm heart, “an’ she’s left two children, which Josh an’ me’ll hev to take, I reckon, seein’ their parents is both dead now.  We’d a letter to-day from the minister there—­Mr. Penn he calls hisself, I think.”

“Yes, I know him,” put in Mr. Goldthwaite.

“He wants Josh to come up right away, which he can’t possibly do an’ the corn not in the barn yet.  A day’s worth so many dollars jes’ now, an’ can’t be throwed away.  Now, sir, will ye be so kind as to see to things at Hetty’s, an’ fetch the children with you when ye come back?  It’ll be a great favour to Josh and me.”

The minister concealed what he thought, and answered courteously that he should do his best.  Then Miss Hepsy rose and shook out her green skirts.

“The address is Fifteenth Street, sir, an’ Hetty’s name was Hurst.  I reckon ye’ll find it easy enough.  That’s all; I’ll be goin’ now.—­No, thanks, Miss Goldthwaite, I can’t sit down; it’s ’most milking time, and if Keziah’s left to do it herself, there’s no saying what might happen.—­So, good evenin’, and thank ye, sir;” and before the brother and sister recovered from their amazement, Miss Hepsy had whisked out of the room, and the next minute her firm, man-like tread broke upon their ears again.  Mr. Goldthwaite looked at his sister with a comical smile, which was answered by a peal of laughter from her sweet lips.

“I can’t help it indeed, Frank,” she said.  “I am so sorry for the poor children, bereft of both parents.  Their mother was a refined, gentle creature, too, I have been told; of a different mould from Miss Hepsy.  The calmness, though, to ask you to do all this simply because Joshua is too hard to spare a day’s labour!  Are you doing altogether right, Frank, I wonder, in taking it off his hands?”

“I could not refuse it, Carrie,” returned the minister.  “Like you, I am sorry for the poor little orphans.  Their life will not be all sunshine, I fear, at Thankful Rest.”

Miss Goldthwaite sighed, and from the open window watched in silence Miss Hepsy’s brilliant figure crossing the river by the bridge a hundred yards beyond the parsonage gate.

“I think, Frank, that among all your parishioners there is not a more unhappy pair than Joshua Strong and his sister.  I wish they could be made to see how differently God meant them to spend their lives.  It saddens me to see their hardness and sourness.”