her neighbor, Mrs. Abel Day,
had argued for an hour before they could make a bargain about the method
of disseminating a certain important piece of news, theirs by exclusive
right of discovery and prior possession. Mrs. Day offered to give Mrs.
Cole the privilege of Saco Hill and Aunt Betty-Jack's, she herself to
take Guide-Board and Town-House Hills. Aunt Abby quickly proved the
injustice of this decision, saying that there were twice as many
families living in Mrs. Day's chosen territory as there were in that
allotted to her, so the river road to Milliken's Mills was grudgingly
awarded to Aunt Abby by way of compromise, and the ladies started on
what was a tour of mercy in those days, the furnishing of a subject of
discussion for long, quiet evenings.

Uncle Bart's joiner's shop was at the foot of Guide-Board Hill on the
Riverboro side of the bridge, and it was the pleasantest spot in
the whole village. The shop itself had a cheery look, with its
weather-stained shingles, its small square windows, and its hospitable
door, half as big as the front side of the building. The step was an
old millstone too worn for active service, and the piles of chips
and shavings on each side of it had been there for so many years that
sweet-williams, clove pinks, and purple phlox were growing in among them
in the most irresponsible fashion; while a morning-glory vine had crept
up and curled around a long-handled rake that had been standing against
the front of the house since early spring. There was an air of cosy
and amiable disorder about the place that would have invited friendly
confabulation even had not Uncle Bart's white head, honest, ruddy face,
and smiling welcome coaxed you in before you were aware. A fine Nodhead
apple tree shaded the side windows, and underneath it reposed all summer
a bright blue sleigh, for Uncle Bart always described himself as being
"plagued for shed room" and kept things as he liked at the shop, having
a "p'ison neat" wife who did exactly the opposite at his house.

The seat of the sleigh was all white now with scattered fruit blossoms,
and one of Waitstill's earliest remembrances was of going downhill with
Patty toddling at her side; of Uncle Bart's lifting them into the sleigh
and permitting them to sit there and eat the ripe red apples that had
fallen from the tree. Uncle Bart's son, Cephas (Patty's secret adorer),
was a painter by trade, and kept his pots and cans and brushes in a
little outhouse