ing a
palm-leaf fan.

"Now, there's one thing more I want you to tell me," said she, after she
had possessed herself of Timothy's unhappy past, uncertain present, and
still more dubious future; "and that is, what made you ask for Miss
Marthy Cummins when you come to the door?"

"Why, I thought it was the lady-of-the-house's name," said Timothy; "I
saw it on her doorplate."

"But we ain't got any doorplate, to begin with."

"Not a silver one on your door, like they have in the city; but isn't
that white marble piece in the yard a doorplate? It's got 'Martha
Cummins, aged 17,' on it. I thought may be in the country they had them
in their gardens; only I thought it was queer they put their ages on
them, because they'd have to be scratched out every little while,
wouldn't they?"

"My grief!" ejaculated Samantha; "for pity's sake, don't you know a
tombstun when you see it?"

"No; what is a tombstun?"

"Land sakes! what do you know, any way? Didn't you never see a graveyard
where folks is buried?"

"I never went to the graveyard, but I know where it is, and I know
about people's being buried. Flossy is going to be buried. And so the
white stone shows the places where the people are put, and tells their
names, does it? Why, it is a kind of a doorplate, after all, don't you
see? Who is Martha Cummins, aged 17?"

"She was Miss Vildy's sister, and she went to the city, and then come
home and died here, long years ago. Miss Vildy set great store by her,
and can't bear to have her name spoke; so remember what I say. Now, this
'Flossy' you tell me about (of all the fool names I ever hearn tell of,
that beats all,--sounds like a wax doll, with her clo'se sewed on!), was
she a young woman?"

"I don't know whether she was young or not," said Tim, in a puzzled
tone. "She had young yellow hair, and very young shiny teeth, white as
china; but her neck was crackled underneath, like Miss Vilda's;--it had
no kissing places in it like Gay's."

"Well, you stay here in the kitchen a spell now, 'n' don't let in that
rag-dog o' yourn till he stops scratching if he keeps it up till the
crack o' doom;--he's got to be learned better manners. Now, I'll go in
'n' talk to Miss Vildy. She may keep you over night, 'n' she may not; I
ain't noways sure. You started in wrong foot foremost."

SCENE VI.

_The White Farm. Evening._

TIMOTHY, LADY GAY, AND RAGS PROVE FAITHFUL TO EACH OTHER.

Samantha went into the sitting-room and t