the great kitchen, where Mrs. Griswold was paring apples and Lizzy
straining squash.

"Isn't he?" quietly replied the lady addressed, as the tailoress sat
down in the flag-bottomed rocking-chair, and began rocking vehemently,
all the time eyeing Lizzy from the depths of her poke-bonnet with
patient scrutiny.

"No, he a'n't,--so Mr. Gris'ld says," went on Polly. "You see, I was
a-comin' up here from the Centre, so's to see if Sam couldn't wait for
his roundabout till arter Thanksgivin'; for Keziah Perkins, she 't was
my sister's husband's fust wife's darter, 'n' finally married sister's
fust husband's son, she's a real likely woman, and she's wrote over from
Taunton to ask me to go there to Thanksgivin'; 'n' to-day's Monday; 'n'
I was a-comin' here Tuesday so's to make Sam's roundabout; 'n' yesterday
Miss Luken's boy Simon, he 't a'n't but three year old, he got my
press-board, when he was a-crawlin' round, 'n' laid it right onto the
cookin'-stove, and fust thing Miss Lukens know'd it blazed right up, 'n'
I can't get another fixed afore Wednesday, and then I'd ought to be to
Taunton, 'cause there a'n't no stage runs Thursday, and there hadn't
oughter, of course"----

"We have got a press-board," said Mrs. Griswold, quietly.

"Yes, and I a'n't goin' to grandfather's in my old jacket, Miss Poll,"
interposed Sam, one of the "terrible" children who are scattered here
and there through this world. "Catch me where all the folks are, in that
old butternut suit!" added Sam.

But here his father stepped in at the door,--a fine, sturdy, handsome