When, therefore, the mail-coach one day brought to Bowerton an old lady and a young one, who appeared to be mother and daughter, excitement ran high.

The proprietor of the Bowerton House, who was his own clerk, hostler, and table-waiter, was for a day or two the most popular man in town; even the three pastors of the trio of churches of Bowerton did not consider it beneath their dignity to join the little groups which were continually to be seen about the person of the landlord, and listening to the meagre intelligence he was able to give.

The old lady was quite feeble, he said, and the daughter was very affectionate and very handsome.  He didn’t know where they were going, but they registered themselves from Boston.  Name was Wyett—­young lady’s name was Helen.  He hoped they wouldn’t leave for a long time—­travelers weren’t any too plenty at Bowerton, and landlords found it hard work to scratch along.  Talked about locating at Bowerton if they could find a suitable cottage.  Wished ’em well, but hoped they’d take their time, and not be in a hurry to leave the Bowerton House, where—­if he did say it as shouldn’t—­they found good rooms and good board at the lowest living price.

The Wyetts finally found a suitable cottage, and soon afterward they began to receive heavy packages and boxes from the nearest railway station.

Then it was that the responsible gossips of Bowerton were worked nearly to death, but each one was sustained by a fine professional pride which enabled them to pass creditably through the most exciting period.

For years they had skillfully pried into each other’s private affairs, but then they had some starting-place, some clue; now, alas! there was not in all Bowerton a single person who had emigrated from Boston, where the Wyetts had lived.  Worse still, there was not a single Bowertonian who had a Boston correspondent.

To be sure, one of the Bowerton pastors had occasional letters from a missionary board, whose headquarters were at the Hub, but not even the most touching appeals from members of his flock could induce him to write the board concerning the newcomers.

But Bowerton was not to be balked in its striving after accurate intelligence.

From Squire Brown, who leased Mrs. Wyett a cottage, it learned that Mrs. Wyett had made payment by check on an excellent Boston bank.  The poor but respectable female who washed the floors of the cottage informed the public that the whole first floor was to be carpeted with Brussels.

The postmaster’s clerk ascertained and stated that Mrs. Wyett received two religious papers per week, whereas no else in Bowerton took more than one.

The grocer said that Mrs. Wyett was, by jingo, the sort of person he liked to trade with—­wouldn’t have anything that wasn’t the very best.

The man who helped to do the unpacking was willing to take oath that among the books were a full set of Barnes, Notes, and two sets of commentaries, while Mrs. Battle, who lived in the house next to the cottage, and who was suddenly, on hearing the crashing of crockery next door, moved to neighborly kindness to the extent of carrying in a nice hot pie to the newcomers, declared that, as she hoped to be saved, there wasn’t a bit of crockery in that house which wasn’t pure china.