s uncle, Peter Skimbley, who owned a farm near
Watertown. The widow's hopeful was now a lank, pale-faced youth of
eighteen, whose most imposing features were his big hands and a long
nose that ended in a sharp point. The shop had ruined him for manual
labor, for he sat hunched up by the stove in winter, and in summer hung
around Cotting's store and listened to the gossip of the loungers. He
was a boy of small conversational powers, but his mother declared that
Skim "done a heap o' thinkin' that nobody suspected."

The widow was a good gossip herself, and knew all the happenings in the
little town. She had a habit of reading all her stock of paper-covered
novels before she sold them, and her mind was stocked with the mass of
romance and adventure she had thus absorbed. "What I loves more'n eat'n'
or sleep'n'," she often said, "is a rattlin' good love story. There
don't seem to be much love in real life, so a poor lone crittur like me
has to calm her hankerin's by a-readin' novels."

No one had been more interested in the advent of the millionaire at the
Wegg farm than the widow Clark. She had helped "fix up" the house for
the new owner and her appreciative soul had been duly impressed by the
display of wealth demonstrated by the fine furniture sent down from the
city. She had watched the arrival of the party and noticed with eager
eyes the group of three pretty and stylishly dressed nieces who
accompanied their rich uncle. Once or twice since the young ladies had
entered her establishment to purchase pens or stationery, and on such
occasions the widow was quite overcome by their condescension.

All this set her thinking to some purpose. One day she walked over to
the farm and made her way quietly to the back door. By good fortune she
found blind Nora hemming napkins and in a mood to converse. Nora was an
especially neat seamstress, but required some one to thread her needles.
Mary the cook had been doing this, but now Mrs. Clark sat down beside
Nora to "hev a little talk" and keep the needles supplied with thread.

She learned a good deal about the nieces, for old Nora could not praise
them enough. They were always sweet and kind to her and she loved to
talk about them. They were all rich, too, or would be; for their uncle
had no children of his own and could leave several millions to each one
when he died.

"An' they're so simple, too," said the old woman; "nothin' cityfied ner
stuck-up about any on 'em, I kin tell