wanted me to come and sew for her one Wednesday, and says I, ’Miss Wilcox, I’m poor and have to live by my work, but I a’n’t so poor but what I have some comforts, and I can’t give up my prayer-meeting for any money,—­for you see, if one gets a little lift there, it makes all the work go lighter,—­but then I have to be particular to save up every scrap and end of time.”

Mrs. Scudder and Miss Prissy crossed the kitchen and entered the bedroom, and soon had the dove-colored silk under consideration.

“Well, Miss Scudder,” said Miss Prissy, after mature investigation, “here’s a broad hem, not cut at all on the edge, as I see, and that might be turned down, and so cut off the worn spot up by the waist,—­and then, if it is turned, it will look every bit and grain as well as a new silk;—­I’ll sit right down now and go to ripping.  I put my ripping-knife into my pocket when I put on this dress to go to prayer-meeting, because, says I to myself, there’ll be something to do at Miss Scudder’s to-night.  You just get an iron to the fire, and we’ll have it all ripped and pressed out before dark.”

Miss Prissy seated herself at the open window, as cheery as a fresh apple-blossom, and began busily plying her knife, looking at the garment she was ripping with an astute air, as if she were about to circumvent it into being a new dress by some surprising act of legerdemain.  Mrs. Scudder walked to the looking-glass and began changing her bonnet cap for a tea-table one.

Miss Prissy, after a while, commenced in a mysterious tone.

“Miss Scudder, I know folks like me shouldn’t have their eyes open too wide, but then I can’t help noticing some things.  Did you see the Doctor’s face when we was talking to him about Mary?  Why, he colored all up and the tears came into his eyes.  It’s my belief that that blessed man worships the ground she treads on.  I don’t mean worships, either,—­’cause that would be wicked, and he’s too good a man to make a graven image of anything,—­but it’s clear to see that there a’n’t anybody in the world like Mary to him.  I always did think so; but I used to think Mary was such a little poppet—­that she’d do better for—­Well, you know, I thought about some younger man;—­but, laws, now I see how she rises up to be ahead of everybody, and is so kind of solemn-like.  I can’t but see the leadings of Providence.  What a minister’s wife she’d be, Miss Scudder!—­why, all the ladies coming out of prayer-meeting were speaking of it.  You see, they want the Doctor to get married;—­it seems more comfortable-like to have ministers married; one feels more free to open their exercises of mind; and as Miss Deacon Twitchel said to me,—­’If the Lord had made a woman o’ purpose, as he did for Adam, he wouldn’t have made her a bit different from Mary Scudder.’  Why, the oldest of us would follow her lead,—­’cause she goes before us without knowing it.”

“I feel that the Lord has greatly blessed me in such a child,” said Mrs. Scudder, “and I feel disposed to wait the leadings of Providence.”