“Her mother does not think that there is any chance of her making a match here, and she had better save them up till next winter.  Dress does make so much difference in a girl’s prospects, you know,” said Grandma Cobb shrewdly.

I thought of poor Harry Liscom, and how sorry his little sweetheart must have felt not to be able to show herself in her pretty dresses to him.  However, I was exceedingly glad to hear that she had cried, because it argued well for Harry, and looked as if she had not found another lover more to her mind in New York.

Indeed, Grandma Cobb informed us presently as to that.  “Harriet does not seem to find anybody,” said she.  “I suppose it is because H. Boardman lost his money; young men are so careful nowadays.”

Grandma Cobb stayed to tea with us that night; our supper hour came, and of course we asked her.

Grandma Cobb owned with the greatest frankness that she should like to stay.  “There isn’t a thing to eat at our house but hygienic biscuits and eggs,” said she.  “My daughter wrote Hannah not to cook anything until we came; Hannah would have made some cake and pie, otherwise.  I tell my daughter I have got so far along in life without living on hygienic food, and I am not going to begin.  I want to get a little comfort out of the taste of my victuals, and my digestion is as good as hers, in spite of all her fussing.  For my part,” continued Grandma Cobb, who had at times an almost coarsely humorous method of expressing herself, “I believe in not having your mind on your inwards any more than you can possibly help.  I believe the best way to get along with them is to act as if they weren’t there.”

After Grandma Cobb went home, as late as nine o’clock, I saw a clinging, shadowy couple stroll past our house, and knew it was Harriet Jameson and Harry, as did Louisa, and our consciences began to trouble us again.

“I feel like a traitor to Caroline and to Mrs. Jameson sometimes,” said I.

“Well, maybe that is better than to be traitor to true love,” said Louisa, which did sound rather sentimental.

The next morning about eleven o’clock Mrs. Jameson came in, and we knew at once that she was, so to speak, fairly rampant in the field of improvement for our good, or rather the good of the village, for, as I said before, she was now resolved upon the welfare of the village at large, and not that of individuals or even societies.

“I consider that my own sphere has been widened this winter,” said Mrs. Jameson, and Louisa and I regarded her with something like terror.  Flora Clark said, when she heard that remark of Mrs. Jameson’s, that she felt, for her part, as if a kicking horse had got out of the pasture, and there was no knowing where he would stop.