hung upon me painfully and heavily at home. For a few minutes I spoke
with the aged female of the house on general topics; then a passing
observation--in spite of me--escaped my lips in reference to Miss Ellen.
The villager took up the theme and expatiated widely. There was no end
to what she had to say of good and kind for the dear lady. I could have
hugged her for her praise. Prudence bade me forsake the dangerous
ground, and so I did, to return again with tenfold curiosity and zest. I
asked a hundred questions, each one revealing more interest and ardour
than the last, and involving me in deeper peril. It was at length
accomplished. My companion hesitated suddenly in a discourse, then
stopped, and looked me in the face, smiling cunningly. "I tell you what,
sir," she exclaimed at last, and loudly, "you are over head and ears in
love, and that's the truth on't."

"Hush, good woman," I replied, blushing to the forehead, and hastening
to shut an open door. "Don't speak so loud. You mistake, it is no such
thing. I shall be angry if you say so--very angry. What can you mean?"

"Just what I say, sir. Why, do you know how old I am? Seventy-three. I
think I ought to tell, and where's the harm of it? Who couldn't love the
sweetest lady in the parish--bless her young feeling heart!"

"I tell you--you mistake--you are to blame. I command you not to repeat
this to a living soul. If it should come to the incumbent's ears"--

"Trust me for that, sir. I'm no blab. He shan't be wiser for such as me.
But do you mean to tell me, sir, with that red face of your'n, you
haven't lost your heart--leave alone your trembling? ah, well, I hopes
you'll both be happy, anyhow."