arbor-vitae hedge, and therein were often set for a few moments, when
they passed that way, the eager eyes of Mrs. Martha or her daughter
Flora or Fidelia Loomis. Frequent calls they also made upon Evelina,
living alone with the old woman Sarah Judd, who had been called in
during her cousin's illness, and they strolled into the garden,
spying anxiously for withered leaves or dry stalks. They at every
opportunity interviewed the old man who assisted Evelina in her care
of the garden concerning its welfare. But small progress they made
with him, standing digging at the earth with his spade while they
talked, as if in truth his wits had gone therein before his body and
he would uncover them.

Moreover, Mrs. Martha Loomis talked much slyly to mothers of young
men, and sometimes with bold insinuations to the young men
themselves, of the sad lot of poor young Evelina, condemned to a
solitary and loveless life, and of her sweetness and beauty and
desirability in herself, although she could not bring the old
Squire's money to her husband. And once, but no more than that, she
touched lightly upon the subject to the young minister, Thomas
Merriam, when he was making a pastoral call.

"My heart bleeds for the poor child living all alone in that great
house," said she. And she looked down mournfully, and did not see how
white the young minister's face turned. "It seems almost a pity,"
said she, furthermore--"Evelina is a good housekeeper, and has rare
qualities in herself, and so many get poor wives nowadays--that some
godly young man should not court her in spite of the will. I doubt,
too, if she would not have a happier lot than growing old over that
garden, as poor Cousin Evelina did before her, even if she has a fine
house to live in and a goodly sum in the bank. She looks pindling
enough lately. I'll warrant she has lost a good ten pound since poor
Evelina was laid away, and--"

But Thomas Merriam cut her short. "I see no profit in discussing
matters which do not concern us," said he, and only his ministerial
estate saved him from the charge of impertinence.

As it was, Martha Loomis colored high. "I'll warrant he'll look out
which side his bread is buttered on; ministers always do," she said
to her daughters after he had gone. She never dreamed how her talk
had cut him to the heart.

Had he not seen more plainly than any one else, Sunday after Sunday,
when he glanced down at her once or twice cautiously from his pulpi