at's
certain, an' he's added to his inheritance right along, like the thrifty
man he is. I hate to think o' them two fine girls wearin' their fingers
to the bone for his benefit."

"Oh, well! 't won't last forever," said Rish Bixby. "They're the
handsomest couple o' girls on the river an' they'll get husbands afore
many years. Patience'll have one pretty soon, by the looks. She never
budges an inch but Mark Wilson or Phil Perry are follerin' behind, with
Cephas Cole watchin' his chance right along, too. Waitstill don't seem
to have no beaux; what with flyin' around to keep up with the Deacon,
an' bein' a mother to Patience, her hands is full, I guess."

"If things was a little mite dif'rent all round, I could prognosticate
who Waitstill could keep house for," was Peter Morrill's opinion.

"You mean Ivory Boynton? Well, if the Deacon was asked he'd never give
his consent, that's certain; an' Ivory ain't in no position to keep
a wife anyways. What was it you heerd 'bout Aaron Boynton up to New
Hampshire, Peter?" asked Abel Day.

"Consid'able, one way an' another; an' none of it would 'a' been any
comfort to Ivory. I guess Aaron 'n' Jake Cochrane was both of 'em more
interested in savin' the sisters' souls than the brothers'! Aaron was a
fine-appearin' man, and so was Jake for that matter, 'n' they both had
the gift o' gab. There's nothin' like a limber tongue if you want to
please the women-folks! If report says true, Aaron died of a fever out
in Ohio somewheres; Cortland's the place, I b'lieve. Seems's if he hid
his trail all the way from New Hampshire somehow, for as a usual thing,
a man o' book-larnin' like him would be remembered wherever he went.
Wouldn't you call Aaron Boynton a turrible larned man, Timothy?"

Timothy Grant, the parish clerk, had just entered the store on an
errand, but being directly addressed, and judging that the subject under
discussion was a discreet one, and that it was too early in the evening
for drinking to begin, he joined the group by the fireside. He had
preached in Vermont for several years as an itinerant Methodist
minister before settling down to farming in Edgewood, only giving up
his profession because his quiver was so full of little Grants that a
wandering life was difficult and undesirable. When Uncle Bart Cole
had remarked that Mis' Grant had a little of everything in the way
of baby-stock now,--black, red, an' yaller-haired, dark and light
complected, fat an' lean, tall an