death of me, I know that; but it's lucky other folks ain't so
feelin' as I am, I always say. Of all the forward, up-standin' tykes
ever I see--but there! it ain't to be supposed anybody cares whether
I'm sassed or whether I ain't."

Saturday was bright and fair, and Anne Peace stood at the window with
a beaming smile, watching the girls troop by on their way to the
picnic. She had moved Mrs. Means's sofa out of the corner, so that she
could see, too, and there was a face at each window. Miss Peace was a
little plump, partridge-like woman, with lovely waving brown hair, and
twinkling brown eyes. She had never been a beauty, but people always
liked to look at her, and the young people declared she grew prettier
every year. Mrs. Means was tall and weedy, with a figure that used to
be called willowy, and was now admitted to be lank; her once fair
complexion had faded into sallowness, and her light hair had been
frizzed till there was little left of it. Her eyebrows had gone up,
and the corners of her mouth had gone down, so that her general effect
was depressing in the extreme.

"There go Tudie and Jenny!" cried Miss Peace, in delight. "If they
ain't a pretty pair, then I never saw one, that's all. Jenny's dress
doos set pretty, if I do say it; and after all, it's her in it that
makes it look so well. There comes the minister, Delia. Now I'm glad
the roses are out so early. He doos so love roses, Mr. Goodnow does.
And the honeysuckle is really a sight. Why, this is the first time you
have fairly seen the garden, Delia, since you came. Isn't it looking
pretty?"

"I never did see how you could have your garden right close 't onto
the street that way, Anne," was the reply. "Everybody 't comes by
stoppin' and starin', and pokin' their noses through the fence. Look
at them boys, now! why, if they ain't smellin' at the roses, the
boldfaced brats. Knock at the winder, Anne, and tell 'em to git out.
Shoo! be off with you!" She shook her fist at the window, but,
fortunately, could not reach it.

"Hi-hi!" said Anne Peace. "You don't mean that, Delia. What's roses
for but to smell? I do count it a privilege, to have folks take
pleasure in my garden." She threw up the window, and nodded pleasantly
to the children. "Take a rose, sonny, if you like 'em," she said.
"Take two or three, there's enough for all. Whose little boys are
you?" she added, as the children, in wondering delight, timidly broke
off a blossom or two. "Mis' Green'