. They also affected to despise the small
vanities of the world. The effect of prosperity, however, on their
natures was singularly instructive, since it entirely changed their
manners. No sooner did fortune favor them than Mrs. Chapman began to
display an ambition for vulgar show, such as well-bred people never
indulge in. She never failed to remind her friends that she was brought
up in Boston, where everything was very refined. She regarded it as a
compliment to herself that she had an intellectual husband. He had a big
head, if he was small, and could carry any number of books in it. That
was what Boston people liked. Her thoughts seemed continually navigating
between religion and the fashions. She had no deep affection or love for
any one, not even for her daughter Mattie, whom she viewed in the light
of a rather valuable ornament, in the disposal of which she must make
the best bargain she could, not so much for the girl's sake as her own.
She could toss her head as disdainfully as any of your fine dames; and
she could discourse as glibly about genteel society as a successful
milliner just set up for a lady. She had plain Mrs. Jones for a
neighbor, and would drop that honest woman a nod now and then, out of
mere politeness. But she never condescended to associate on terms of
equality with the Jones family. Mrs. Jones's husband was a common,
unintellectual sort of person, who retailed groceries for a living.

A singular and mysterious change had now taken place. Chapman no longer
got up quarrels with his neighbors. Indeed, he had a good word to say
whenever he met Titus Bright. He could shake hands with Doctor Critchel,
and agree with the Dominie on matters of religion. In fine, if he was
everybody's enemy before, he was now everybody's friend. He admired the
Dutch for their honesty and true-heartedness. This singular change gave
the gossips of the town something to talk about for a week. The Chapmans
and the Toodleburgs were now the very best of friends. Chapman could be
seen of an evening sitting in Hanz's little ivy-covered porch, enjoying
a pot of ale. And Hanz had been seen smoking his pipe in Chapman's
garden. All this meant something, the gossips said, and something of
great importance. Where two such men got their heads together, and pipes
and ale were called in, there was sure to be something deep going on.
Hanz Toodleburg, they said, never smoked his pipe with a man like
Chapman but that there was somethin