ey, who represented one class
of Yankees, while Timothy Aldergrass represented another.

The next morning just as daylight was beginning to be visible, Jerry
knocked softly at Aunt Betsey's door, telling her that for more than an
hour he'd heard the young lady takin' on, and he guessed she was worse.
Hastily throwing on her loose gown Aunt Betsey repaired to 'Lena's
room, where she found her sitting up in the bed, moaning, talking, and
whispering, while the wild expression of her eyes betokened a
disordered brain.

"The Lord help us! she's crazy as a loon. Run for the doctor, quick!"
exclaimed Mrs. Aldergrass, and without boot or shoe, Jerry ran off in
his stocking-feet, alarming the physician, who immediately hastened to
the inn, pronouncing 'Lena's disease to be brain fever, as he had at
first feared.

Rapidly she grew worse, talking of her home, which was sometimes in
Kentucky and sometimes in Massachusetts, where she said they had buried
her mother. At other times she would ask Aunt Betsey to send for
Durward when she was dead, and tell him how innocent she was.

"Didn't I tell you there was something wrong?" Uncle Timothy would
squeak. "Nobody knows who we are harborin' nor how much 'twill damage
the house."

But as day after day went by, and 'Lena's fever raged more fiercely,
even Uncle Tim relented, and when she would beg of them to take her
home and bury her by the side of Mabel, where Durward could see her
grave, he would sigh, "Poor critter, I wish you was to home," but
whether this wish was prompted by a sincere desire to please 'Lena, or
from a more selfish motive, we are unable to state. One morning, the
fifth of 'Lena's illness, she seemed much worse, talking incessantly
and tossing from side to side, her long hair floating in wild disorder
over her pillow, or streaming down her shoulders. Hitherto Aunt Betsey
had restrained her _barberic_ desire, each day arranging the heavy
locks, and tucking them under the muslin cap, where they refused to
stay. Once the doctor himself had suggested the propriety of cutting
them away, adding, though, that they would wait awhile, as it was a
pity to lose them.

"Better be cut off than yanked off," said Aunt Betsey, on the morning
when 'Lena in her frenzy would occasionally tear out handfulls of her
shining hair and scatter it over the floor.

Satisfied that she was doing right, she carefully approached the
bedside, and taking one of the curls in her hand,