end of it. You've been crowdin' me into a
corner about him for a week, and now I've said my say!"

Alas! that tiny humming-bird's egg was crushed to atoms,--crushed by a
boy's slender hand that had held it so gently for very fear of breaking
it. For poor little Timothy Jessup had heard his fate for the second
time, and knew that he must "move on" again, for there was no room for
him at the White Farm.

SCENE XII.

_The Village._

LYDDY PETTIGROVE'S FUNERAL.

Lyddy Pettigrove was dead. Not one person, but a dozen, had called in at
the White Farm to announce this fact and look curiously at Samantha Ann
Ripley to see how she took the news.

To say the truth, the community did not seem to be overpowered by its
bereavement. There seemed to be a general feeling that Mrs. Pettigrove
had never been wanted in Pleasant River, coupled with a mild surprise
that she should have been wanted anywhere else. Speculation was rife as
to who would keep house for Dave Milliken, and whether Samantha Ann
would bury the Ripley-Milliken battle-axe and go to the funeral, and
whether Mis' Pettigrove had left her property to David, as was right, or
to her husband's sister in New Hampshire, which would be a sin and a
shame; but jest as likely as not, though she was well off and didn't
need it no more 'n a toad would a pocket-book, and couldn't bear the
sight o' Lyddy besides,--and whether Mr. Pettigrove's first wife's
relations would be asked to the funeral, bein' as how they hadn't spoke
for years, 'n' wouldn't set on the same side the meetin'-house, but when
you come to that, if only the folks that was on good terms with Lyddy
Pettigrove was asked to the funeral, there'd be a slim attendance,
and--so on.

Aunt Hitty was the most important person in the village on these
occasions. It was she who assisted in the last solemn preparations and
took the last solemn stitches; and when all was done, and she hung her
little reticule on her arm, and started to walk from the house of
bereavement to her own home (where "Si" was anxiously awaiting his
nightly draught of gossip), no royal herald could have been looked for
with greater interest or greeted with greater cordiality. All the
housewives that lived on the direct road were on their doorsteps, so as
not to lose a moment, and all that lived off the road had seen her from
the upstairs windows, and were at the gate to waylay her as she passed.
At such a moment Aunt Hitty's bosom swelled