m we never get
tired o' tellin' 'bout.

"There was the Widder Bunker, fer instance; she had a heap o' trouble
and the only comfort she got was tellin' on't. She had rumatiz 'n' biles
'n' janders 'n' liver complaint, ever since she was left a widder, an'
all she could talk 'bout was what ailed her an' how long it had lasted
an' what the symptoms were an' what she was doin' fer 'em. She'd run on
fer hours 'bout all her ailin's till folks 'ud go off 'n' leave her. She
got so daft on this subject, finally, everybody'd run fer safety and
hide when they saw her comin'. She used ter talk in meetin' onct in a
while, 'n' arter a spell her aches got sorter mixed up with her
religion, an' as nobody else 'ud listen to her 'bout 'em, the first we
knowed, she 'gan tellin' the Lord how her asmer bothered her and how her
rumatiz acted. She enjied it so much, an' the Lord seemed to listen so
well, she kept at it over an hour, until the parson had to ask her to
quit.

"It was sorter rough on the widder, an' as I told the parson arterward,
it really wa'n't any wuss fer the Lord to hev to listen to her bodily
aches and pains than the spiritual ones the rest allus told him 'bout;
'sides it gin a spice o' variety ter the meetin'.

"But he said her tellin' the Lord how she'd hump herself to get breath,
and how the rumatiz had started in her big toe and skipped from one jint
to 'tother, 'ud set the boys in the back seats to titterin' 'n' break up
the meetin'.

"I allus felt sorry for the Widder Bunker, fer she had considerable hair
on her upper lip an' a hair mole on her chin, 'sides bein' poorer'n a
church mouse, an' sich unfortunate critters hez to take back seats at
the Lord's table."

CHAPTER VI

THE BUD OF A ROMANCE

The little steamer _Rockhaven_ was but a speck on the southern horizon,
the fishermen that had earlier spread their wings were still in sight
that June morning, and Jess Hutton, having swept his store, sat tilted
back in an arm-chair on his piazza, smoking while he watched the white
sails to the eastward, when a tall, well-formed, and city-garbed young
man approached.

"My name's Hardy," he said, smiling as his brown eyes took in Jess and
his surroundings at a glance, "and I represent Weston & Hill and have
come to open and manage the quarry they own here. You are Mr. Hutton, I
believe?"

Jess rose and extended a brown and wrinkled hand. "That's my name," he
said, "'n' I'm glad ter see ye. But ter tell ye