“I call it politeness, that is what I call it.  What are you laughing at, Mr. Marston?  I have no doubt that the old man was merely trying to set an example of courtesy to some of the younger men, or to protect the woman from the insults that the other members of the congregation would heap upon her.  Mr. Marston, I do wish you would keep your face serious.  There is nothing to laugh at in this matter.  A worthy old man tries to do a worthy work, his fellow-servants cavil at him, and his master, who should encourage him, laughs at him for his pains.”

“I assure you, my dear, I’m not laughing at Uncle Simon.”

“Then at me, perhaps; that is infinitely better.”

“And not at you, either; I’m amused at the situation.”

“Well, Manette ca’ied him off dis mo’nin’,” resumed Eliza.

“Manette!” exclaimed Mrs. Marston.

“It was Manette he was a beauin’.  Evahbody say he likin’ huh moughty well, an’ dat he look at huh all th’oo preachin’.”

“Oh my!  Manette’s one of the nicest girls I brought from St. Pierre.  I hope—­oh, but then she is a young woman, she would not think of being foolish over an old man.”

“I do’ know, Miss M’ree.  De ol’ men is de wuss kin’.  De young oomans knows how to tek de young mans, ‘case dey de same age, an’ dey been lu’nin’ dey tricks right along wif dem’; but de ol’ men, dey got sich a long sta’t ahaid, dey been lu’nin’ so long.  Ef I had a darter, I wouldn’ be afeard to let huh tek keer o’ huhse’f wif a young man, but ef a ol’ man come a cou’tin’ huh, I’d keep my own two eyes open.”

“Eliza, you’re a philosopher,” said Mr. Marston.  “You’re one of the few reasoners of your sex.”

“It is all nonsense,” said his wife.  “Why Uncle Simon is old enough to be Manette’s grandfather.”

“Love laughs at years.”

“And you laugh at everything.”

“That’s the difference between love and me, my dear Mrs. Marston.”

“Do not pay any attention to your master, Eliza, and do not be so suspicious of every one.  It is all right.  Uncle Simon had Manette over, because he thought the service would do her good.”

“Yes’m, I ‘low she’s one o’ de young lambs dat he gone out in de col’ to fotch in.  Well, he tek’n’ moughty good keer o’ dat lamb.”

Mrs. Marston was compelled to laugh in spite of herself.  But when Eliza was gone, she turned to her husband, and said: 

“George, dear, do you really think there is anything in it?”

“I thoroughly agree with you, Mrs. Marston, in the opinion that Uncle Simon needed rest, and I may add on my own behalf, recreation.”

“Pshaw!  I do not believe it.”

All doubts, however, were soon dispelled.  The afternoon sun drove Mr. Marston to the back veranda where he was sitting when Uncle Simon again approached and greeted him.

“Well, Uncle Simon, I hear that you’re back in your pulpit again?”