sure he was goin' to tell me somethin'--says he,
'Mrs. Steadman, I believe every girl is gittin' ready for her weddin'
sometime. Maudie here is doin' an ocean-wave huckaback cushion now, I
see. What's that for, I wonder? I suppose Edith Slater is gittin'
ready. I don't see why she shouldn't,' and then he began to lilt a
little foreign toon, and I was good and mad, I can tell ye; but ye
can't get nothin' out, of him. He gits his livin' pretty easy, too,
and he ought to be a little chatty, I think."

Dr. Emeritus Emory was not so engrossed in his profession as to be
insensible to a good square meal and a well-kept room to sleep in,
and so a chart of his peregrinations through the neighbourhood, with
the meal-stations starred, would have been a surer guide to the good
bread and butter makers than the findings of the Agricultural Society
which presumed every year at the "Show Fair" to pick the winners, and
any young man looking for a wife would make no mistake if he
"followed the stars."

Dr. Emory seldom passed the Perkins home without stopping, and
although he had no pupil there since Edith left, he almost invariably
planned his pilgrimage so as to be there about nightfall, for a good
supper, bed, and breakfast and a warm welcome were not to be passed
by.

If the music-teacher's way of getting his board and lodging was
unique, he had also his own system of getting his laundry work done.
Like all systems, it had its limitations; it required a certain
understanding on the part of the lady of the house. This sometimes
did not exist, and so it happened that the pair of stockings or the
underwear that he left, quite by accident, in the room he had
occupied were returned to him on his next visit, neatly wrapped in
newspaper, but otherwise unchanged in condition.

But Martha Perkins never failed him. On his next visit the articles
he had left were always returned to him, washed, ironed, and oven
mended, and Martha always asked, as if there were some chance of
doubt, if they were his.

Although he had never thanked Martha for her kindness, Dr. Emory was
deeply sensible of it, an many a time as he came walking down the
river-bank and saw the Perkins home, with its friendly, smoke curling
up through the trees, a lively feeling of gratitude stirred in him.
He had a habit of talking to him-self--gossiping, indeed, for it was
only to himself that he discussed neighbourhood matters or his own
affairs.

"Martha's a good girl,"