so difficult
t' understand, unless it is the ladies." There was such an air of
compliment about the saving clause that Rachel involuntarily inclined
her head to it. "You'll tell the governor as I was here, mother," Snac
concluded, stooping down to kiss her.

"You mustn't ask me to do that, Snac," she answered. "I dar' not name
your name."

"Rubbidge!" said Snac, genially. "Does he bite?"

"It's for your sake, Snac," said his mother, "not for mine. But I dar'
not do it."

"Well, well, mayhap I shall light upon him i' the village. If I
shouldn't, I'll look in again. Good-mornin', mother, and good-day to
you, mum. I'm just goin' to drop in on Mr. Ezra Gold, seein' as I'm this
way. I'm told he wants to part with that shorthorn cow of hisn, and I'm
allays game for a bit o' trade."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Sennacherib, shaking her doleful head. "He'll part with
everythin' earthly, poor man, afore he's much older."

"Why," cried Snac, "what's the matter with the man?"

"The young uns see nothin', Miss Blythe," said Mrs. Sennacherib,
shaking her head again, but this time with a sort of relish. "But
old experienced folks can tell when any poor feller-creetur's time is
drawing nigh. His father went just at his time o' life by the same road
as he's a-takin'."

"Well, what road is he takin'?" her son demanded.

"Look at his poor hands," said Mrs. Sennacherib, with a pitying gusto.
"As thin as egg-shells, and with no more color in 'em than there is
in that cha-ney saucer. Hark to that dry cough as keeps on a
hack-hack-hackin' at him."

"Pooh!" cried young Sennacherib. "He's been like that as long as I can
remember him."

"Mark my words," his mother answered, with a stronger air of doleful
relish than before, "he'll niver be like that much longer."

"Theer's them as looks at the dark side," returned Snac, "and them as
looks at the bright. Niver say die till your time comes. I'll go and
wake him up a bit, though he's no great hand at a bargain, and seems to
find less contentment in gettin' on the blind side of a man than most on
'em. Good-mornin', mother; good-mornin', mum."

Snac took his way with a flourish, and his mother looked after the
tight-clad legs, the broad shoulders, the tall collar, and the rakish
hat with mournful admiration.

"Do you think," asked the little old maid, coughing behind her hand,
and looking out of window as she spoke, as if the theme had but little
interest for her, "that Mr. Ezra Gold is reall