that Tommy promises to be fruit for the gallus if ever it
bore any. Every sheet on the line with 'Squashnose' wrote on it, and a
picture of Isick that anybody would know a mile off, and all in green
paint. Oh, good morning, Vesta! Why, I thought for sure you must be
sick; you weren't out to meeting yesterday."

"No, I was not," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "I trust you are quite well,
Malvina, and that the deacon's rheumatism is giving him less trouble
lately?"

"If Malviny Weight ain't a case!" chuckled Miss Penny, as the two
visitors left the shop together. "I do admire to see Miss Vesta handle
her, so pretty and polite, and yet with the tips of her fingers, like
she would a dusty chair. There! what was I sayin' the other day? The
Blyth girls is ladies, and Malviny Weight--"

"Malviny Weight is a pokin', peerin', pryin' poll-parrot!" said Miss
Prudence's voice, sharply; "that's what she is!"

"Why, Prudence Pardon, how you talk!" said Miss Penny.

CHAPTER VIII.

A TEA-PARTY

"I wish we might have had William Jaquith as well," said Miss Vesta. "It
would have pleased Mary, and every one says he is doing so well."

"I am quite as well satisfied as it is, my dear Vesta," replied Miss
Phoebe. "Let me see; one, two, three--six cups and saucers, if you
please; the gold-sprigged ones, and the plates to match. I think it is
just as well not to have William Jaquith. I rejoice in his reform, and
trust it will be as permanent as it is apparently sincere; but with Mr.
and Mrs. Bliss--no, Vesta, I feel that the combination would hardly have
been suitable. Besides, he and Cousin Homer could not both leave the
office at once, so early in the evening."

"That is true," said Miss Vesta. "Which bowl shall we use for the wine
jelly, Sister Phoebe? I think the color shows best in this plain one
with the gold stars; or do you prefer the heavy fluted one?"

The little lady was perched on the pantry-steps, and looked anxiously
down at Miss Phoebe, who, comfortably seated, on account of her
rheumatism, was vainly endeavoring to find a speck of dust on cup or
dish.

"The star-bowl is best, I am convinced," said Miss Phoebe, gravely;
then she sighed.

"I sometimes fear that cut glass is a snare, Vesta. The pride of the
eye! I tremble, when I look at all these dishes."

"Surely, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, gently, "there can be no
harm in admiring beautiful things. The Lord gave us the sense of beauty,
and I have always