Miss Tewksbury. "I am truly sorry for
her--truly sorry."

"Ah! so am I," said Helen. "I propose to see more of her. I am
interested in just such people."

"Well, ma'am," said Mrs. Haley dryly, "if you like sech folks it's a
thousand pities you've come here, for you'll git a doste of 'em. Yes'm,
that you will; a doste of 'em that'll last you as long as you live, if
you live to be one of the patrioks. And you nee'nter be sorry for Emma
Jane Stucky neither. Jest as you see her now, jesso she's been a-goin'
on fer twenty year, an' jest as you see her now, jesso she's been
a-lookin' ev'ry sence anybody around here has been a-knowin' her."

"Her history must be a pathetic one," said Miss Tewksbury with a sigh.

"Her what, ma'am?" asked Mrs. Haley.

"Her history, the story of her life," responded Miss Tewksbury. "I dare
say it is very touching."

"Well, ma'am," said Mrs. Haley, "Emma Jane Stucky is like one of them
there dead pines out there in the clearin'. If you had a stack of
almanacs as high as a hoss-rack, you couldn't pick out the year she was
young and sappy. She must 'a' started out as a light'd knot, an' she's
been a-gittin' tougher year in an' year out, till now she's tougher'n
the toughest. No'm," continued Mrs. Haley, replying to an imaginary
argument, "I ain't predijiced ag'in' the poor creetur'--the Lord knows I
ain't. If I was, no vittels would she git from me--not a scrimption."

"I never saw such an expression on a human countenance," said Helen.
"Her eyes will haunt me as long as I live."

"Bless your soul and body, child!" exclaimed Mrs. Haley; "if you're
going to let that poor creetur's looks pester you, you'll be worried to
death, as certain as the world. There's a hunderd in this settlement
jest like her, and ther' must be more'n that, old an' young, 'cause the
children look to be as old as the'r grannies. I reckon maybe you ain't
used to seein' piny-woods Tackies. Well, ma'am, you wait till you come
to know 'em, and if you are in the habits of bein' ha'nted by looks,
you'll be the wuss ha'nted mortal in this land, 'less'n it's them that's
got the sperrit-rappin's after 'em."

IV

MRS. STUCKY, making her way homeward through the gathering dusk, moved
as noiselessly and as swiftly as a ghost. The soft white sand beneath
her feet gave forth no sound, and she seemed to be gliding forward,
rather than walking; though there was a certain awkward emphasis and
decision in her movements altogether