, and lent her books to read.

I was boarding at that time with a poor widow-woman, and one night I
asked her about Rachel. She warmed up immediately, said Rachel Lowe was
a good girl and ought to be "sot by," and not slighted on her parents'
account.

"And who were her parents?" I asked.

"Why, when her father was a poor boy, the Squire thought he would take
him and bring him up to learnin'; but when he came to be a man grown
almost, he ran away to sea; and long afterwards we heard of his marryin'
some outlandish girl, half English, half French,--but Rachel's no worse
for that. After his wife died,--and, as far as I can find out, the way
he carried on was what killed her,--he started to bring Rachel here; but
he died on the passage, and she came with only a letter. I suppose he
thought the ones that had been kind to him would be kind to her; but,
you see, the Squire is a-livin' with his second wife, and she isn't the
woman the first Miss Brewster was. In time folks will come round, but
now they sort of look down upon her; for, you see, everybody knows who
her father was, and how he didn't do any credit to his bringin' up, and
nobody knows who her mother was, only that she was a furrener, which was
so much agin her. But you are goin' right from here to the Squire's; and
mebby, if you make of her, and let folks see that you set store by her,
they'll begin to open their eyes."

I thought I felt just like kissing the poor widow; anyway, I knew I felt
like kissing somebody. To be sure, the talk was all about Rachel, and it
might--But no matter; what difference does it make now who it was I
wanted to kiss forty or fifty years ago?

The next day I went to board at the Squire's. It was dark when I reached
the house; the candles were just being lighted. The Squire, a kindly old
man, met me in the porch and took my bundle. I followed him into the
kitchen. There something more than common seemed to be going on, for
chairs were being arranged in rows, and Mrs. Brewster was putting out of
sight every article suggestive of work. There was to be an evening
meeting. I watched the people as they came in, still and solemn. Not
many of the women wore bonnets. All who lived within a moderate distance
just stepped in with a little homespun blanket over the head, or a
patchwork cradle-quilt. I noticed Rachel when she entered and took her
seat upon the settle. It will only take a minute to tell what a settle
is, or, rather, was. If you