vents, Hepzibah had fully satisfied
herself of the impossibility of ever becoming wonted to this peevishly
obstreperous little bell. Ring as often as it might, the sound always
smote upon her nervous system rudely and suddenly. And especially now,
while, with her crested teaspoons and antique china, she was flattering
herself with ideas of gentility, she felt an unspeakable disinclination
to confront a customer.

"Do not trouble yourself, dear cousin!" cried Phoebe, starting lightly
up. "I am shop-keeper to-day."

"You, child!" exclaimed Hepzibah. "What can a little country girl know
of such matters?"

"Oh, I have done all the shopping for the family at our village store,"
said Phoebe. "And I have had a table at a fancy fair, and made better
sales than anybody. These things are not to be learnt; they depend
upon a knack that comes, I suppose," added she, smiling, "with one's
mother's blood. You shall see that I am as nice a little saleswoman as
I am a housewife!"

The old gentlewoman stole behind Phoebe, and peeped from the passageway
into the shop, to note how she would manage her undertaking. It was a
case of some intricacy. A very ancient woman, in a white short gown
and a green petticoat, with a string of gold beads about her neck, and
what looked like a nightcap on her head, had brought a quantity of yarn
to barter for the commodities of the shop. She was probably the very
last person in town who still kept the time-honored spinning-wheel in
constant revolution. It was worth while to hear the croaking and
hollow tones of the old lady, and the pleasant voice of Phoebe,
mingling in one twisted thread of talk; and still better to contrast
their figures,--so light and bloomy,--so decrepit and dusky,--with only
the counter betwixt them, in one sense, but more than threescore years,
in another. As for the bargain, it was wrinkled slyness and craft
pitted against native truth and sagacity.

"Was not that well done?" asked Phoebe, laughing, when the customer was
gone.

"Nicely done, indeed, child!" answered Hepzibah. "I could not have
gone through with it nearly so well. As you say, it must be a knack
that belongs to you on the mother's side."

It is a very genuine admiration, that with which persons too shy or too
awkward to take a due part in the bustling world regard the real actors
in life's stirring scenes; so genuine, in fact, that the former are
usually fain to make it palatable to their self-