And thus the sermon closed.  It may well be supposed that for some days there was something of a stir in the hive.  The ladies of the congregation who were among the borrowers of the preserving kettle, and they were not a few, including the minister’s wife, were for a time deeply incensed at Aunt Mary, and not a few at the minister.  But this temporary indignation soon wore off, for Aunt Mary was so kind and good that no one could feel offended with her for any length of time, more especially where there was really no cause of offence.  One by one, they called upon her, as they were enabled to see how really they had been guilty of trespassing upon good nature, and, after apologizing, enjoyed with her a hearty laugh upon the subject.  And, finally, the whole thing came to be looked upon as quite an amusing as well as an instructive affair.

After this, Aunt Mary was allowed to possess her beautiful bell-metal preserving kettle in peace, which was to her a source of no small satisfaction.  And what was more, in the course of the next preserving season, a stock of twenty or thirty brass, copper, and bell-metal kettles, that had been lying for years on the shelves of a hardware-dealer’s store in the village, almost uninquired for, were all sold off, and a new supply obtained from Boston to meet the increased demand.

HOME AT LAST.

“WE’RE home at last, and I am so glad!” exclaimed a little girl, not over ten years of age, as she paused at twilight with her mother before a small and mean-looking house, one evening late in the month of November.

The mother did not reply, but lifted the latch, when both passed in.  There was no light in the dwelling, and no fire on the hearth.  All was cold, dark, and cheerless in that place which had been called “home” by the little girl; yet, cold, dark, and cheerless as it was, she still felt glad to be there once more.

“I will get a light, mother,” said she, in a cheerful tone, running to a closet, and taking thence a candle and a match.

In a moment or two afterwards the candle was burning brightly, and throwing its light into every corner of that meanly-furnished room, which contained but few articles, and they the simplest that were needed.  An old pine table, without leaves, three or four old chairs the paint from which had long since disappeared, a bench and a water bucket, with a few cooking utensils, made up the furniture of the apartment.

A small fire was soon kindled on the hearth, over which the mother hung a tea-kettle.  When this had boiled, and she had drawn some tea, she placed upon the table a few slices of bread and a piece of cheese, which she took from a basket that she had borne on her arm.  Then the mother and child sat down to partake of their frugal meal, which both eat with a keen relish.

“I’m so glad to get home again!” the little girl said, glancing up into her mother’s face, with a cheerful smile.