n laughing silently. They never laughed aloud.

"If he didn't murder us," said Miss S'mantha, doubtfully.

"Nonsense," said the trustee; "I'll answer for him."

"Can't tell what men'll do," she persisted weakly. "When I was in
Albany with Alma Haskins, a man came 'long an' tried t' pass the
time o' day with us. We jes' looked t'other way an' didn't preten'
t' hear him. It's awful t' think what might 'a' happened."

She wiped invisible tears with an embroidered handkerchief. The
dear lady had spent a good part of her life thinking of that narrow
escape.

"If he wa'n't too partic'lar," said Miss Letitia, who had been
laughing at this maiden fear of her sister.

"If he would mind his business, we--we might take him for one
week," said Miss S'mantha. She glanced inquiringly at her sister.

Letitia and S'mantha Tower, "the two old maids," had but one near
relative--Ezra Tower, a brother of the same neighbourhood.

There were two kinds of people in Faraway,--those that Ezra Tower
spoke to and those he didn't. The latter were of the majority. As
a forswearer of communication he was unrivalled. His imagination
was a very slaughter-house, in which all who crossed him were
slain. If they were passing, he looked the other way and never
even saw them again. Since the probate of his father's will both
sisters were of the number never spoken to. He was a thin, tall,
sullen, dry, and dusty man. Dressed for church of a Sunday, he
looked as if he had been stored a year in some neglected cellar.
His broadcloth had a dingy aspect, his hair and beard and eyebrows
the hue of a cobweb. He had a voice slow and rusty, a look arid
and unfruitful. Indeed, it seemed as if the fires of hate and envy
had burned him out.

The two old maids, feeling the disgrace of it and fearing more,
ceased to visit their neighbours or even to pass their own gate.
Poor Miss S'mantha fell into the deadly mire of hypochondria. She
often thought herself very ill and sent abroad for every medicine
advertised in the county paper. She had ever a faint look and a
thin, sickly voice. She had the man-fear,--a deep distrust of
men,--never ceasing to be on her guard. In girlhood, she had been
to Albany, Its splendour and the reckless conduct of one Alma
Haskins, companion of her travels, had been ever since a day-long
perennial topic of her conversation. Miss Letitia was more
amiable. She had a playful, cheery heart in her, a mincing and
preci