"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorn'd."--_Congreve_.

"And who be you, with those big brown eyes, sitting on the Bartlett's
porch working that butter as if you've been used to handling butter all
your life? No city girl, I'm sure." Anna had been at the Squire's for
a week when the above query was put to her.

The voice was high and rasping. The whole sentence was delivered
without breath or pause, as if it was one long word. The speaker might
have been the old maid as portrayed in the illustrated weekly. Nothing
was lacking--corkscrew curls, prunella boots, cameo brooch and chain, a
gown of the antiquated Redingote type, trimmed with many small ruffles
and punctuated, irrelevantly, with immovable buttons.

"I am Anna Moore."

"Know as much now as I ever did," snapped the interlocutor.

"I have come to work for Mrs. Bartlett, to help her about the house."

"Land sakes. Bartlett's keeping help! How stylish they're getting."

"Yes, Marthy, we are progressing," said Kate, coming out of the house.
"Anna, this is our friend, Miss Marthy Perkins."

The village gossip's confusion was but momentary. "Do you know, Kate,
I just came over a-purpose to see if you'd come. What kind of clothes
are they wearing in Boston? Are shirtwaists going to have tucked backs
or plain? I am going to make over my gray alpaca, and I wouldn't put
the scissors into it till I seen you."

"Come upstairs, Marthy, and I'll show you my new shirtwaists."

"Land sakes," said the spinster, bridling. "I would be delighted, but
you know how I can't move without that Seth Holcomb a-taggin' after me;
it's just awful the way I am persecuted. I do wish I'd get old and
then there'll be an end of it." She held out a pair of mittens,
vintage of 1812, to Kate, appealingly.

Seth Holcomb stumped in sight as she concluded; he had been Martha's
faithful admirer these twenty years, but she would never reward him;
her hopes of younger and less rheumatic game seemed to spring eternal.

During the few days that Anna had made one of the Squire's family she
went about with deep thankfulness in her heart; she had been given the
chance to work, to earn her bread by these good people. Who could
tell--as time went on perhaps they would grow fond of her, learn to
regard her as one of themselves--it was so much better than being so
utterly alone.

Her energy never flagged, she did her share of the wor