age shops,
which had been faithfully reported. She was working early and late in
her little room. She was, in the new prosperity of the villagers,
collecting her trifling dues. She had given notice of the recall of her
modest loans. There were many indications that she was preparing to
leave the town.

"Now, really," said Mrs. Snow to her one evening, when Miss Butterworth
was illuminating the parsonage by her presence--"now, really, you must
tell us all about it. I'm dying to know."

"Oh, it's too ridiculous for anything," said Miss Butterworth, laughing
herself almost into hysterics.

"Now, what, Keziah? What's too ridiculous? You _are_ the most provoking
person!"

"The idea of my getting married!"

Mrs. Snow jumped up and seized Miss Butterworth's hands, and said:

"Why, Keziah Butterworth! You don't tell me! You wicked, deceitful
creature!"

The three Misses Snow all jumped up with their mother, and pressed
around the merry object of their earnest congratulations.

"So unexpected and strange, you know," said the oldest.

"So very unexpected!" said the second.

"And so very strange, too!" echoed Number Three.

"Well, it _is_ too ridiculous for anything," Miss Butterworth repeated.
"The idea of my living to be an old maid, and, what's more, making up my
mind to it, and then"--and then Miss Butterworth plunged into a new fit
of merriment.

"Well, Keziah, I hope you'll be very happy. Indeed I do," said Mrs.
Snow, becoming motherly.

"Happy all your life," said Miss Snow.

"Very happy," said Number Two.

"All your life long," rounded up the complement of good wishes from the
lips of the youngest of the trio.

"Well, I'm very much obliged to you--to you all "--said Miss
Butterworth, wiping her eyes; "but it certainly is the most ridiculous
thing. I say to myself sometimes: 'Keziah Butterworth! You little old
fool! What _are_ you going to do with that man? How _are_ you going to
live with him?' Goodness knows that I've racked my brain over it until
I'm just about crazy. Don't mention it, but I believe I'll use him for a
watch-dog--tie him up daytimes, and let him out nights, you know!"

"Why, isn't he nice?" inquired Mrs. Snow.

"Nice! He's as rough as a hemlock tree."

"What do you marry him for?" inquired Mrs. Snow in astonishment.

"I'm sure I don't know. I've asked myself the question a thousand
times."

"Don't you want to marry him?"

"I don't know. I guess I do."

"My dear," said Mrs.