ad rites. She had been
tenderly attached to her cousin, whom she had not seen for twenty years.

"But I have come now," she said, "to devote myself to those who remain.
My cousin Vesta looks sadly ill and shrunken, really an old woman, and
my aunt Mrs. Tree is seriously ill, I am told, unable even to see me
until after the doctor's visit. Very sad! At her age, of course the
slightest thing in the nature of a seizure would probably be fatal. Have
you seen her recently, may I ask?"

Deacon Weight crossed and uncrossed his legs uneasily. Mrs. Weight
bridled, and pursed her lips.

"We don't often see Mis' Tree to speak to," she said. "There's those
you can be neighborly with, and there's those you can't. Mis' Tree has
never showed the wish to _be_ neighborly, and I am not one to put forth,
neither is the deacon. Where we are wished for, we go, and the reverse,
we stay away. We do what duty calls for, no more. I did see Mis' Tree at
Phoebe's funeral," she added, "and she looked gashly then. I hope she
is prepared, I reelly do. I know Phoebe was real uneasy about her. We
make her the subject of prayer, the deacon and I, but that's all we
_can_ do; and I feel bound to say to you, Mis' Pryor, that in _my_
opinion, your aunt's soul is in a more perilous way than her body."

Mrs. Pryor seemed less concerned about the condition of Mrs. Tree's soul
than might have been expected. She asked many questions about the old
lady's manner of life, who came to the house, how she spent her time,
etc. Mrs. Weight answered with eager volubility. She told how often the
butcher came, and what costly delicacies he left; how few and far
between were what she might call spiritooal visits; "for our pastor is
young, Mis' Pryor, and it's not to be expected that he could have the
power of exhortation to compare with those who have labored in the
vineyard the len'th of time Deacon Weight has. Then, too, she has a way
that rides him down--Mr. Bliss, I'm speakin' of--and makes him ready to
talk about any truck and dicker she likes. I see him come out the other
day, laughin' fit to split; you'd never think he was a minister of the
gospel. Not that I should wish to be understood as sayin' anything
against Mr. Bliss; the young are easily led, even the best of them.
Isick, don't stand gappin' there! Shut your mouth, and go finish your
chores. And Annie Lizzie, you go and peel some apples for mother. Yes,
you can, just as well as not; don't answer me like t