There was an unusual number at meeting that morning, partly, no doubt, because it had been reported that Mr. Jameson was to be there, and that made a little mistake of his and his wife’s more conspicuous.  The minister read that morning the twenty-third Psalm, and after he had finished the first verse Mrs. Jameson promptly responded with the second, as she would have done in her own church, raising her solitary voice with great emphasis.  It would not have been so ludicrous had not poor Mr. Jameson, evidently seeing the mistake, and his face blazing, yet afraid to desert his wife’s standard, followed her dutifully just a few words in the rear.  While Mrs. Jameson was beside the still waters, Mr. Jameson was in the green pastures, and so on.  I pitied the Jameson girls.  Harriet looked ready to cry with mortification, and Sarah looked so alarmed that I did not know but she would run out of the church.  As for Cobb, he kept staring at his mother, and opening his mouth to speak, and swallowing and never saying anything, until it seemed as if he might go into convulsions.  People tried not to laugh, but a little repressed titter ran over the congregation, and the minister’s voice shook.  Mrs. Jameson was the only one who did not appear in the least disturbed; she did not seem to realize that she had done anything unusual.

Caroline Liscom was not at church—­indeed, she had not been much since the boarders arrived; she had to stay at home to get the dinner.  Louisa and I wondered whether she was relieved or disturbed at losing her boarders, and whether we should ever know which.  When we passed the Wray house on our way home, and saw the blinds open, and the fresh mould in the garden, and the new shingles shining on the hen-house roof, we speculated about it.

“Caroline had them about nine weeks, and at fifteen dollars a week she will have one hundred and thirty-five dollars,” said Louisa.  “That will buy her something extra.”

“I know that she has been wanting some portieres for her parlor, and a new set for her spare chamber, and maybe that is what she will get,” said I. And I said furthermore that I hoped she would feel paid for her hard work and the strain it must have been on her mind.

Louisa and I are not very curious, but the next day we did watch—­though rather furtively—­the Jamesons moving into the old Wray house.

All day we saw loads of furniture passing, which must have been bought in Grover.  So many of the things were sewed up in burlap that we could not tell much about them, which was rather unfortunate.  It was partly on this account that we did not discourage Tommy Gregg—­who had been hanging, presumably with his mother’s connivance, around the old Wray house all day—­from reporting to us as we were sitting on the front doorstep in the twilight.  Mrs. Peter Jones and Amelia Powers had run over, and were sitting there with Louisa and me.  Little Alice had gone to bed; we had refused to allow her