“Sarce!  What is sarce?”

“Not know what sarce is?  You are clever!  Sarce is apples cut up and dried, to make into pies in the winter.  Now do you comprehend?”

I nodded.

“Well, I was going to say that I have no apples, and that you have a tarnation big few of them; and if you’ll give me twenty bushels of your best apples, and find me with half a pound of coarse thread to string them upon, I will make you a barrel of sarce on shares—­that is, give you one, and keep one for myself.”

I had plenty of apples, and I gladly accepted her offer, and Mrs.
Betty Fye departed, elated with the success of her expedition.

I found to my cost, that, once admitted into the house, there was no keeping her away.  She borrowed everything that she could think of, without once dreaming of restitution.  I tried all ways of affronting her, but without success.  Winter came, and she was still at her old pranks.  Whenever I saw her coming down the lane, I used involuntarily to exclaim, “Betty Fye!  Betty Fye!  Fye upon Betty Fye!  The Lord deliver me from Betty Fye!” The last time I was honoured with a visit from this worthy, she meant to favour me with a very large order upon my goods and chattels.

“Well, Mrs. Fye, what do you want to-day?”

“So many things that I scarce know where to begin.  Ah, what a thing ’tis to be poor!  First, I want you to lend me ten pounds of flour to make some Johnnie cakes.”

“I thought they were made of Indian meal?”

“Yes, yes, when you’ve got the meal.  I’m out of it, and this is a new fixing of my own invention.  Lend me the flour, woman, and I’ll bring you one of the cakes to taste.”

This was said very coaxingly.

“Oh, pray don’t trouble yourself.  What next?” I was anxious to see how far her impudence would go, and determined to affront her if possible.

“I want you to lend me a gown, and a pair of stockings.  I have to go to Oswego to see my husband’s sister, and I’d like to look decent.”

“Mrs. Fye, I never lend my clothes to any one.  If I lent them to you, I should never wear them again.”

“So much the better for me,” (with a knowing grin).  “I guess if you won’t lend me the gown, you will let me have some black slack to quilt a stuff petticoat, a quarter of a pound of tea and some sugar; and I will bring them back as soon as I can.”

“I wonder when that will be.  You owe me so many things that it will cost you more than you imagine to repay me.”

“Sure you’re not going to mention what’s past, I can’t owe you much.  But I will let you off the tea and the sugar, if you will lend me a five-dollar bill.”  This was too much for my patience longer to endure, and I answered sharply—­