“Well, have enough,” he said impatiently, “though you will never look pretty nor lady-like in anything.  So don’t flatter yourself, nor aspire to imitate others who can.  I suppose now, Miss Graystone,” turning to Clemence, “you think I don’t want my wife to dress as well as others on account of the expense; but, although I commenced poor, and have been obliged to save pretty close, yet I never saw the time when I have not done for my family to the extent my means afforded.  Times are getting a little easier with me now, though I ain’t rich, far from it.  Besides there’s another point to be considered.  Now if you get an article of dress, you have some taste in making and wearing it,” and he looked admiringly at the trim figure before him; “but Susan here, completely spoils everything she undertakes.”

“There, Amos Owen,” put in the aforementioned Susan, “don’t try to lay your stinginess on my shoulders, for, goodness knows, they have burden enough already.  And that ain’t so, either, you know as well as I do that you’re only saying it to be contrary.”

“Well, have it so,” he said, crossly, and Clemence, to turn the subject, asked if they were going to attend morning service on the coming Sabbath.

“Not I,” said Mr. Owen, “it’s asking altogether too much of a hard working man like me to get up and start off as regular as the Sunday comes, without any rest whatever.  I don’t feel called upon to do it, for one.  Wife, here, can answer for herself.”

“Why don’t you say at once that she has not a decent dress to go in, and you prefer to have her stay home and look after the children, while you sleep away your time.  I’ve no patience with you, Amos.”

“So you are boarding at Owen’s?” said Mrs. Swan, when Clemence stopped for little Ruth, on her way to meeting.

“Yes,” said Clemence, “they are an odd couple.”

“They are all of that, and more,” she replied with a smile.  “I should not think you would fancy staying there much, she has the name of being a miserable housekeeper, and a shiftless sort of body at the best.”

“Why,” said the young teacher, generously, “I have not found her so.  I think she is one of the most industrious women in the place.”

“Then,” said Mrs. Swan, looking with an air of pride around her own neat little dwelling, “how is it she always has such a dirty looking house, that you can’t bear to eat a mouthful in it, and those ill-kempt, noisy children, to say nothing of her own slovenly appearance?”

“Because,” returned Clemence, in her defence, “she has more work put upon her than two women ought to do, and with so much expected of her, it is not to be wondered at that she sometimes fails to achieve everything.”

“But what a figure the woman does make of herself,” said Mrs. Swan, smoothing her own satin hair.  “She spoils everything in the making up.  I never saw her in a well made garment, nor her children, either.”