were focused upon Mrs. Solomon Black. That lady sustained the
combined attack with studied calm. She even smiled, as she jerked her
thread smartly through a breadth of red flannel.

"I s'pose you knew a lot more about her in the beginning than we
did," said Mrs. Dodge, in a slightly offended tone.

"You must have known something about her, Phoebe," put in Mrs.
Fulsom. "I don't care what anybody says to the contrary, there's
something queer in a young girl, like her, coming to a strange place,
like Brookville, and doing all the things she's done. It ain't
natural: and that's what I told the Judge when he was considering the
new waterworks. There's a great deal of money to be made on
waterworks, the Judge says."

The eyes were now focused upon Mrs. Fulsom.

"Well, I can tell you, she ain't looking to make money out of
Brookville," said Abby Daggett, laying down her fan and taking an
unfinished red flannel petticoat from the basket on the table. "Henry
knows all about her plans, and he says it's the grandest idea! The
water's going to be piped down from the mountain right to our
doors--an' it'll be just as free as the Water of Life to anybody
that'll take it."

"Yes; but who's going to pay for digging up the streets and putting
'em back?" piped up an anxious voice from a corner.

"We'd ought to, if she does the rest," said Mrs. Daggett; "but Henry
says--"

"You can be mighty sure there's a come-back in it somewhere," was
Mrs. Whittle's opinion. "The Deacon says he don't know whether to
vote for it or not. We'll have rain before long; and these droughts
don't come every summer."

Ellen Dix and Fanny Dodge were sitting outside on the porch. Both
girls were sewing heart-shaped pieces of white cloth upon squares of
turkey-red calico.

"Isn't it funny nobody seems to like her?" murmured Ellen, tossing
her head. "I shouldn't be surprised if they wouldn't let her bring
the water in, for all she says she'll pay for everything except
putting it in the houses."

Fanny gazed at the white heart in the middle of the red square.

"It's awfully hard to sew these hearts on without puckering," she
said.

"Fan," said Ellen cautiously, "does the minister go there much now?"

Fanny compressed her lips.

"I'm sure I don't know," she replied, her eyes and fingers busy with
an unruly heart, which declined to adjust itself to requirements.
"What are they going to do with this silly patchwork, anyway?"

"Make an autograph quil