“I always said Sister Dawes meant well; but she’s getting into years, and the care of two children is a good deal for her, with her cooking and her rheumatiz.  I don’t deny she did neglect ’em for a spell, but she does well by ’em now, and I wouldn’t wish to see better-appearing children.”

“You’ve no idee how improved Molly is.  She came in to see my girls, and brought her sewing-work, shirts for the boy, and done it as neat and capable as you’d wish to see.  She always was a smart child, but dreadful careless,” said the other old lady, evidently much impressed by the change in harum-scarum Molly Loo.

“Being over to Mis Minot’s so much has been good for her, and up to Mis Grant’s.  Girls catch neat ways as quick as they do untidy ones, and them wild little tykes often turn out smart women.”

“Sister Dawes has done well by them children, and I hope Mr. Bemis sees it.  He ought to give her something comfortable to live on when she can’t do for him any longer.  He can well afford it.”

“I haven’t a doubt he will.  He’s a lavish man when he starts to do a thing, but dreadful unobserving, else he’d have seen to matters long ago.  Them children was town-talk last fall, and I used to feel as if it was my bounden duty to speak to Miss Dawes.  But I never did, fearing I might speak too plain, and hurt her feelings.”

“You’ve spoken plain enough now, and I’m beholden to you, though you’ll never know it,” said Miss Bat to herself, as she slipped into her own gate, while the gossips trudged on quite unconscious of the listener behind them.

Miss Bat was a worthy old soul in the main, only, like so many of us, she needed rousing up to her duty.  She had got the rousing now, and it did her good, for she could not bear to be praised when she had not deserved it.  She had watched Molly’s efforts with lazy interest, and when the girl gave up meddling with her affairs, as she called the housekeeping, Miss Bat ceased to oppose her, and let her scrub Boo, mend clothes, and brush her hair as much as she liked.  So Molly had worked along without any help from her, running in to Mrs. Pecq for advice, to Merry for comfort, or Mrs. Minot for the higher kind of help one often needs so much.  Now Miss Bat found that she was getting the credit and the praise belonging to other people, and it stirred her up to try and deserve a part at least.

“Molly don’t want any help about her work or the boy:  it’s too late for that; but if this house don’t get a spring cleaning that will make it shine, my name ain’t Bathsheba Dawes,” said the old lady, as she put away her bonnet that night, and laid energetic plans for a grand revolution, inspired thereto not only by shame, but by the hint that “Mr. Bemis was a lavish man,” as no one knew better than she.

Molly’s amazement next day at seeing carpets fly out of window, ancient cobwebs come down, and long-undisturbed closets routed out to the great dismay of moths and mice, has been already confided to the cats, and as she sat there watching them lap and gnaw, she said to herself,—­