you really take Jim and Sally home to your house, to live with
you, Hetty?"

"Why, certainly," replied Hetty, in an impatient tone, "that's what I
said: didn't I make it plain?" and she walked faster and faster back and
forth.

"Hetty, you're an angel," exclaimed the old man, solemnly. "If there's
any thing that could make him hold up his head again, it would be just
that thing. But--" he hesitated, "you know Sally?"

"Yes, yes, I know her. I know all about her. She's a poor, weak thing,"
said Hetty, with no shade of tenderness in her voice; "but Jim was the
most to blame, and it's abominable the way people have treated her. I
always wished I could do something for them both, and now I've got the
chance: that is if you think they'd like to come."

The deacon hesitated again, began to speak, broke off, hesitated, tried
again, and at last stammered:--"Don't think I don't feel your kindness,
Hetty; but, low's Jim's fallen, I don't quite feel like having them go
into anybody's kitchen, especially with black help."

"Kitchen!" interrupted Hetty. "What do you take me for, Deacon Little?
If Jim comes to live with me as my overseer, he is just the same as my
partner in the place, so far as his position goes. How do you suppose I
thought that the men would respect him, and take orders from him, if
I meant to put him in the kitchen with Caesar and Nan? No indeed, they
shall live with me as if they were my brother and sister. There are
plenty of rooms in the house for them to have their own sitting-room,
and be by themselves as much as they like. Kitchen indeed! I think
you've forgotten that Jim and I were schoolmates from the time we were
six till we were twenty. I always liked Jim, and he hasn't had half a
chance yet: that miserable affair pulled him down when he was so young."

"That's so, Hetty; that's so," said the deacon, with tears rolling
down his wrinkled cheeks. "Jim wasn't a bad boy. He never meant to harm
anybody, and he hasn't had any chance at all since that happened. It
seems as if it took all the spirit right out of him; and Sally, she
hasn't got any spirit either: she's been nothin' but a millstone round
his neck. It's a mercy the baby died: that's one thing."

"I don't think so at all, Mr. Little," said Hetty, vehemently. "I think
if the baby had lived, it would have strengthened them both. It would
have made Sally much happier, at any rate. She is a motherly little
thing."

"Yes," said the old man, relu