Ruth and Sally had emerged from their farm, and were sewing again at
grand'ther's. Sally bade me remember that riches took to themselves
wings and flew away; she _hoped_ they had not been a snare to my
mother; but she wasn't what she was, it was a fact.

"No, she isn't," Ruth affirmed. "Do you remember, Sally, when she came
out to the farm once, and rode the white colt bare-back round the big
meadow, with her hair flying?"

"Hold your tongue, Ruth."

Ruth looked penitent as she gave me a paper of hollyhock seeds, and
said the flowers were a beautiful blood-red, and that I must plant
them near the sink drain. Caroline had already gone home, so Aunt
Mercy had nothing cheery but her plants and her snuff; for she had
lately contracted the habit of snuff-taking but very privately.

"Train her well, Locke; she is skittish," said grand'ther as we got
into the chaise to go home.

"Grand'ther, if I am ever rich enough to own a peaked-roof pig-sty,
will you come and see me?"

"Away with you." And he went nimbly back to the house, chafing his
little hands.