farmer, one of New England's model men, whose honesty was a proverb, and
whose goodness a reliance to every creature in Greenfield.

"John isn't coming, wife," said Mr. Griswold, in a steady, sober tone.
"He says business will delay him, so that he can only get to Coventry
just as we do."

"So you had a letter," said Mrs. Griswold, carefully avoiding a look at
Lizzy.

"Yes," said Mr. Griswold, in a very abrupt way.--"Are you ready to go
back, Miss Polly? for I've got to go down to the Centre again with a
load of wheat."

"Well, yes, I don't know but I be. I ken stay over, if you want help,
Miss Gris'ld. I'm a-goin' to the minister's to help Miss Fletcher a
little mite this afternoon, but I guess she don't lot on it none; 'n'
seein' it's you, I ken stay, if you want help."

Lizzy looked quickly across the kitchen at her mother.

"Oh! no, thank you, Miss Polly, I know Mrs. Fletcher would feel very
badly to lose your help, and I really don't need it until to-morrow."

"Then I'll come round to the door as quick as I've loaded up," said Mr.
Griswold; and Miss Polly settled back in her chair to wait comfortably;
a process much intensified by a large piece of Mrs. Griswold's
gingerbread and a glass of new cider, both brought her by Lizzy's
hospitable hands,--readier even than usual just now, in the vain hope of
stopping Polly Mariner's clattering tongue. But neither gingerbread nor