at me in meeting to-day, she laughed the most spitefully of anybody, for she had a great notion of your fath—­I mean of Israel.  As to Israel and Sarah, if ever you did see two persons who did not know whether to stand still or to run, to cry or to laugh, they were the couple.  The master, he tried to read us a solemn lecture; but he was so full of suppressed fun that he hugged his viol under his arm till one of the strings snapped.  That gave the pitch, and we had a laughing chorus.  All joined in, except Israel and Sarah.  She pouted, and I do believe he grit his teeth.”  Here Aunt Clara gave herself up to the comic reminiscence, till her eyes filled again.

“Well, and what came of it all?” asked Jerusha.

“Why, it broke up the school for that season, and made town-talk for nine days.  Parson Oliver,—­he was a young man then,—­he went for to give the mischievous girl a good talking to.  He needn’t have tried that; for he was too young to scold a young girl, full of mischief, and, though I say it that shouldn’t say it, rather pretty.”

“Why shouldn’t you say she was pretty?” asked Jerusha.

“O, you hush!  Well, the girl bent her head down, and a few stray tears came, for it was wicked, and she knew it.  But before the water got head enough to fall from her eyes, she kind of thought that the young minister’s voice was getting shaky, either with mirth or with sadness.  To find out which, she slyly looked up, and both she and the minister laughed long and loud.  So there was an end of the jobation that he meant to give her.”

“How did you know all this?” said Jerusha.  “Were you there?”

“I certainly was not far off.”

“But Israel and Sarah,” said I, now seeing through the whole affair, and understanding perfectly why father looked aside, and mother sat down, and Aunt Clara and Prudence Clark of the Dorcas Society exchanged glances, and the minister himself would have laughed in the pulpit, if he had not turned it off with a cough,—­“but Israel and Sarah, how did they fare?”

“Why, Israel, he said that Sarah was just a pretty nobody, and Prudence Clark was a great deal more sensible,—­for his part he never cared anything about Sarah.  And Sarah, she declared that Israel was a hawbuck of a fellow, that no girl would think of when he was out of sight.”

“It was too bad!” said Jerusha.

“Too bad!” I echoed.

“Dreadful suz!” said aunty, mocking our tone.  “Never you fear, if two young simpletons are once caught, that a joke is going to separate them!  And whenever you hear two people pretending to hate one another, you may get your wedding present ready for them.  The folks did tease them though, too bad, and so they had it, back and forth.  Stories never lose anything by carrying, especially the compliments between two quarrelling lovers.  So it went on for about a month, when Israel, on his way to see Prudence Clark, who was sitting in her best, waiting for him, stopped to tell Sarah that he never said so and so.  And Sarah said, she never said so and so.  And they went into the house to finish their talk, and Prudence Clark was left lamenting. I know Israel came home very late that night.”