“No, nor for twenty either,” remarked the minister.

“She seemed very uneasy during the sermon,” said another.

“I thought she did not appear well, as my eye fell upon her occasionally,” the minister added.  “But she is one of the best of women, and I suppose she is undergoing some sore temptation, out of which she will come as gold tried in the fire.”

“I don’t know,” broke in Mrs. Tompkins, who was among the visitors, “that she is so much better than other people.  For my part, I can’t say that I ever found her to be any thing extra.”

“You do not judge of her kindly, Mrs. Tompkins,” said the minister gravely.  “I only wish that all my parish were as good as she is.  I should feel, in that case, I am sure, far less concern for souls than I do.”

Thus rebuked, Mrs. Tompkins contented herself by saying, in an under-tone, to one who sat near her—­

“They may say what they please, but I am well enough acquainted with her to know that she is no better than other people.”

Thus the conversation and the conjectures went round, while the subject of them sat in solitude and sadness in her own chamber.  Finally, the minister said that he would call in and have some conversation with her on the next day, as he had no doubt that there was some trouble on her mind, and it might be in his power to relieve it.

Monday morning came at last, and Aunt Mary proceeded, though with but little interest in her occupation, to “do over” her preserves.  She found them in a state that gave her little hope of being able to restore them to any thing like their original flavour.  But the trial must be made, and so she filled her kettle as full as requisite of a particular kind, and hung it over a slow fire.  This had hardly been done, when Hannah came in and said—­

“As I live, Mrs. Pierce, there is the minister coming up the walk!”

And sure enough, on glancing out, she saw the minister almost at the door-step.

“Bless me!” she exclaimed, and then hurried into her little parlour, to await the knock of her unexpected visitor.  At almost any other time, a call from the minister would have been delightful.  But now, poor Aunt Mary felt that she would as soon have seen any one else.

The knock came in a moment, and, after a pause, the door was opened.

“How do you do, Aunt Mary?  I am very glad to see you,” said the minister, extending his hand.

Aunt Mary looked troubled and confused; but she received him in the best way she could.  Still her manner embarrassed them both.  After a few leading observations, the minister at length said—­

“You seem troubled, Aunt Mary.  Can any thing that I might say relieve the pain of mind you evidently feel?”

The tears came into Aunt Mary’s eyes, but she could not venture to reply.  The minister observed her emotion, and also the meek expression of her countenance.