The women knew nothing whatever.

When they went home, an hour after tea, Hannah Berry turned to Sylvia in the doorway.  “I suppose you know the weddin’ is comin’ off pretty soon now,” said she.

“Yes, I s’posed ’twas,” answered Sylvia, trying to smile.

“Well, I thought I’d jest mention it, so you could get your present ready,” said Hannah.  She nudged Rose violently as she spoke.

“I don’t care; I meant to give her a hint,” she said, chuckling, when they were outside.  “She can give you something jest as well as not; she might give you some silver teaspoons, or a table, or sofa.  There! she bought that handsome sofa for herself a few years ago, an’ she didn’t need it more’n nothin’ at all.  I suppose she thought Richard Alger was comin’ steady, but now he’s stopped.”

Rose was married in a few weeks.  The morning of the wedding-day Sylvia went into Berry’s store and called William aside.

“If you can, I wish you’d come ‘round by-an’-by with your horse an’ your wood-sled,” said she.

“Yes, guess I can; what is it you want?” asked William, eying her curiously.  She was very pale; there were red circles around her eyes, and her mouth trembled.

“Oh, it ain’t anything, only a little present I wanted to send to Rose,” replied Sylvia.

“Well,” said William, “I’ll be along by-an’-by.”  He looked after her in a perplexed way as she went out.

Silas was in the back of the store, and presently he came forward.  “What she want you to do?” he inquired of his son.

William told him.  The old man chuckled.  “Hannah give her a hint ‘tother day, an’ I guess she took it,” he said.

“I thought she looked pretty poorly,” said William—­“looked as if she’d been crying or something.  How do you suppose that property holds out, father?  I heard the town was allowing her on it.”

“Oh, I guess it’ll last her as long as she lives,” replied Silas, gruffly.  “Your mother had ought to had her thirds in it.”

“I don’t know about that,” said William.  “Aunt Sylvy had a hard time takin’ care of grandmother.”

“She was paid for ’t,” returned Silas.

“Richard Alger treated her mean.”

“Guess he sat out considerable firewood an’ candle-grease,” assented the old man.

A customer came in then, and Ezra Ray sprang forward.  He was all excited over his brother’s wedding, and was tending store in his place that day.  His mother was making him a new suit to wear to the wedding, and he felt as if the whole affair hung, as it were, upon the buttons of his new jacket and the straps of his new trousers.

“Guess I might as well go over to Aunt Sylvy’s now as any time,” said William.

“Don’t see what she wanted you to fetch the horse an’ sled for,” ruminated Silas.  “Mother thought most likely she’d give some silver teaspoons if she give anything.”

William went out to the barn, put the horse in the sled, and drove down the hill towards Sylvia’s.  When he returned the old thin silver teaspoons of the Crane family were in his coat-pocket, and Sylvia’s dearly beloved and fondly cherished hair-cloth sofa was on the sled behind him.