Angeline was there, of course. If anything happened in
Bayport and Angeline was not there to help it happen, then--I don't know
what then; the experiment had never been tried in my lifetime.

Everyone said pleasant things to us. They really seemed sorry to have us
leave Bayport, but for our sakes they expressed themselves as glad. It
would be such a glorious trip; we would have so much to tell when we got
back. Mr. Partridge said he should plan for me to give a little talk to
the Sunday school upon my return. It would be a wonderful thing for the
children. To my mind the most wonderful part of the idea was that he
should take my consent for granted. _I_ talk to the Sunday school! I,
the Quahaug! My knees shook even at the thought.

Keturah Bangs hoped we would have a "lovely time." She declared that it
had been the one ambition of her life to go sight-seeing. But she should
never do it--no, no! Such things wasn't for her. If she had a husband
like some women it might be, but not as 'twas. She had long ago given up
hopin' to do anything but keep boarders, and she had to do that all by
herself.

Bailey, her husband, grinned sheepishly but, for a wonder, he did not
attempt defence. I gathered that Bailey was learning wisdom. It was
time; he had attended his wife's academy a long while.

Captain Dimick brought a bag of apples, greenings, some he had kept in
the cellar over winter. "Nice to eat on the cars," he told us. Everyone
asked us to send postcards. Miss Phinney was especially solicitous.

"It'll be just lovely to know where you be and what you're doin," she
declared.

When the train had started and we had waved the last good-bys from the
window Hephzibah expressed her opinion concerning Angeline's request.

"I send HER postcards!" she snapped. "I think I see myself doin' it! All
she cares about 'em is so she can run from Dan to Beersheba showin' 'em
to everybody and talkin' about how extravagant we are and wonderin' if
we borrowed the money. But there! it won't make any difference. If I
don't send 'em to her she'll read all I send to other folks. She
and Rebecca Simmons are close as two peas in a pod and Becky reads
everything that comes through her husband's post-office. All that aren't
sealed, that is--yes, and some that are, I shouldn't wonder, if they're
not sealed tight."

Her next remark was a surprising one.

"Hosy," she said, "how much they all think of you, don't they. Isn't it
nice to know you're