sure, they had their little home; but we’ve seen how, with all their industrious ways, they hadn’t means to keep it.  I s’pose he thought he’d got time enough to lay by, when he give so generous in collections; but he didn’t lay by, an’ there they be.  He might have took lessons from the squirrels:  even them little wild creatur’s makes them their winter hoards, an’ men-folks ought to know enough if squirrels does.  ‘Be just before you are generous:’  that’s what was always set for the B’s in the copy-books, when I was to school, and it often runs through my mind.”

“’As for man, his days are as grass,’—­that was for A; the two go well together,” added Miss Rebecca Wright soberly.  “My good gracious, ain’t this a starved-lookin’ place?  It makes me ache to think them nice Bray girls has to brook it here.”

The sorrel horse, though somewhat puzzled by an unexpected deviation from his homeward way, willingly came to a stand by the gnawed corner of the door-yard fence, which evidently served as hitching-place.  Two or three ragged old hens were picking about the yard, and at last a face appeared at the kitchen window, tied up in a handkerchief, as if it were a case of toothache.  By the time our friends reached the side door next this window, Mrs. Janes came disconsolately to open it for them, shutting it again as soon as possible, though the air felt more chilly inside the house.

“Take seats,” said Mrs. Janes briefly.  “You’ll have to see me just as I be.  I have been suffering these four days with the ague, and everything to do.  Mr. Janes is to court, on the jury.  ’T was inconvenient to spare him.  I should be pleased to have you lay off your things.”

Comfortable Mrs. Trimble looked about the cheerless kitchen, and could not think of anything to say; so she smiled blandly and shook her head in answer to the invitation.  “We’ll just set a few minutes with you, to pass the time o’ day, an’ then we must go in an’ have a word with the Miss Brays, bein’ old acquaintance.  It ain’t been so we could git to call on ’em before.  I don’t know’s you’re acquainted with Miss R’becca Wright.  She’s been out of town a good deal.”

“I heard she was stopping over to Plainfields with her brother’s folks,” replied Mrs. Janes, rocking herself with irregular motion, as she sat close to the stove.  “Got back some time in the fall, I believe?”

“Yes’m,” said Miss Rebecca, with an undue sense of guilt and conviction.  “We’ve been to the installation over to the East Parish, an’ thought we’d stop in; we took this road home to see if ’t was any better.  How is the Miss Brays gettin’ on?”

“They’re well’s common,” answered Mrs. Janes grudgingly.  “I was put out with Mr. Janes for fetchin’ of ’em here, with all I’ve got to do, an’ I own I was kind o’ surly to ’em ’long to the first of it.  He gits the money from the town, an’ it helps him out; but he bid ’em off for five dollars a month, an’ we can’t do much for