“Wal, she ain’t here yit,” said Mrs. Brimblecom, “and the fust two weeks she spends with Mis’ Hodgkins, an’ p’raps by the time she arrives here, I’ll be cooled daown ’nough ter be kind er perlite, though I shan’t say, ‘I’m glad ter see ye Sabriny,’ fer that’d be a lie.”

“I shall say, ‘I hope I see ye well, Sabriny,’ fer massy knows I wouldn’t want her ter be sick fer ye ter wait on,” remarked Jabez, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Wal,” he continued, “I must git this piece er plaoughin’ done.  I can’t set daown an’ luxooriate an’ wait ’til we see Sabriny acomin’.”

With a loud “G’lang there,” he aroused his placid horses, and across the fields they sped, and Mrs. Brimblecom, with the letter in her hand, hastened back to the house where, after placing the large envelope under the cushion of her rocking chair, she busied herself with household tasks.

Later, when she felt that she had earned a few leisure moments, she drew the letter from its hiding-place and sat down to study it.

“’F I hadn’t hid ye under the cushion, like as not when I wanted ter read ye, ye’d be lost,” she remarked.

A few moments she read in silence, then her disgust moved her to speak.

“Sabriny feels better in a ’higher altitude,’—­well, why doesn’t she git one, whatever ‘tis, an’ git inter it an’ stay there, ‘stead a pesterin’ me with her visits.”  Mrs. Brimblecom perused a few more lines, when again she spoke.

“She seems ter ’have little energy,’—­wal, I don’t want ter be mean, but I can’t help a hopin’ that she won’t gain any.  Sabriny without energy would be er sight that’d cheer me.  Her tremenjous vim nearly wore me aout last season.  Ef she’d jest manage ter leave her energy ter hum, I do’no’s I’d mind her comin’.”

While good Mrs. Brimblecom was studying the letter, Mrs. Hodgkins had sallied forth to tell the great news, that the visitor was expected, and as she passed the village store, old Mr. Simpkins, in the doorway, was taking leave of Silas Barnes.

“Yes, sir, he’s a great feller, he is.  There ain’t another as ’riginal as he is on the globe, I bet ye.  He’s done a lot er bright things time an’ time ’n again, but this time beats the other times all holler.”

“What’s he done naow?” asked Barnes.

“Hey?” remarked Mr. Simpkins, with his hand at his ear.

“I say, what’s he done naow?” roared Barnes.

“Oh, I ain’t tellin’ yit.  Even his brother Joel don’t know, an’ won’t know this week, but next week the taown will be ’baout wild with the news er what Timotheus has done.  Ye’ll be ’bliged ter wait ’til then,” said Mr. Simpkins.

“I guess I’ll be able to stand it,” remarked Silas Barnes in an undertone.

“Hey?  Did ye say ye’d understand it?  Wal, I ain’t sure whether ye will er not.  It’s most too much fer me,” Mr. Simpkins replied, as he made his way cautiously down the rickety steps.