ity of
her mistress's absence to have a "follower." Martha looked good, and
steady, and composed enough, as she came to help us out; she was always
careful of Miss Matey, and to-night she made use of this unlucky speech:

"Eh! dear ma'am, to think of your going out on an evening in such a thin
shawl! It is no better than muslin. At your age, ma'am, you should be
careful."

"My age!" said Miss Matey, almost speaking crossly, for her; for she was
usually gentle. "My age! Why, how old do you think I am, that you talk
about my age?"

"Well, ma'am! I should say you were not far short of sixty; but folks'
looks is often against them--and I'm sure I meant no harm."

"Martha, I'm not yet fifty-two!" said Miss Matey, with grave emphasis; for
probably the remembrance of her youth had come very vividly before her
this day, and she was annoyed at finding that golden time so far away in
the past.

But she never spoke of any former and more intimate acquaintance with Mr.
Holbrook. She had probably met with so little sympathy in her early love,
that she had shut it up close in her heart; and it was only by a sort of
watching, which I could hardly avoid, since Miss Pole's confidence, that I
saw how faithful her poor heart had been in its sorrow and its silence.

She gave me some good reason for wearing her best cap every day, and sate
near the window, in spite of her rheumatism, in order to see, without
being seen, down into the street.

He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, which were far apart, as he
sate with his head bent down, whistling, after we had replied to his
inquiries about our safe return. Suddenly, he jumped up.

"Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? I'm going there in a week
or two."

"To Paris!" we both exclaimed.

"Yes, ma'am! I've never been there, and always had a wish to go; and I
think if I don't go soon, I mayn't go at all; so as soon as the hay is got
in I shall go, before harvest-time."

We were so much astonished, that we had no commissions.

Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his favorite
exclamation:

"God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my errand. Here are
the poems for you, you admired so much the other evening at my house." He
tugged away at a parcel in his coat-pocket. "Good-by, Miss," said he;
"good-by, Matey! take care of yourself." And he was gone. But he had given
her a book, and he had called her Matey, just as he used to do thi