"She's a good woman, Mis' Pitkin is," said Abner, "and she's a smart
worker."

In this phrase Abner solemnly expressed his highest ideal of a human
being.

"Smart ain't no word for 't," said Biah, with alertness. "Declar for 't,
the grit o' that are woman beats me. Had eight children right along in a
string 'thout stoppin', done all her own work, never kep' no gal nor
nothin'; allers up and dressed; allers to meetin' Sunday, and to the
prayer-meetin' weekly, and never stops workin': when 'tan't one thing
it's another--cookin', washin', ironin', making butter and cheese, and
'tween spells cuttin' and sewin', and if she ain't doin' that, why, she's
braidin' straw to sell to the store or knitting--she's the perpetual
motion ready found, Mis' Pitkin is."

"Want ter know," said the auditor, as a sort of musical rest in this
monotone of talk. "Ain't she smart, though!"

"Smart! Well, I should think she was. She's over and into everything
that's goin' on in that house. The deacon wouldn't know himself without
her; nor wouldn't none of them boys, they just live out of her; she kind
o' keeps 'em all up."

"Wal, she ain't a hefty woman, naow," said the interlocutor, who seemed
to be possessed by a dim idea that worth must be weighed by the pound.

"Law bless you, no! She's a little crittur; nothin' to look to, but every
bit in her is _live_. She looks pale, kind o' slips round still like