It was a long, low, comfortable-looking house, hidden by lovely
creeping plants, and sheltered at the back by the old elm trees in
the paddock, and at the front by the apple trees in the orchard.
Perhaps it was because it had such a snug, cosy, restful look about
it that it had been queerly christened Thankful Rest. The land
adjoining the homestead was rich and fertile, and brought in every
year a crop worth a goodly competence to its possessors. The family
at Thankful Rest consisted of two people--Joshua Strong and his
sister Hepzibah. You are to make their acquaintance immediately, but
a remark made once by old Reuben Waters, their next neighbour, may
perhaps give you an idea of their characters better than any long
description of mine:----

"For crankiness and nearness, and unneighbourly sourness, give me
Josh Strong and his sister Hepsy. They can't be equalled, I bet, in
all Connecticut."

You will be able to judge by-and-by of the correctness of Reuben's
estimate. On a lovely August afternoon Miss Hepzibah Strong was
ironing in the kitchen at Thankful Rest. I wish you could have seen
that kitchen; your eyes would have ached with its painful
cleanliness. The stone flags were as cool and clean as water and
hands could make them; the stove shone like burnished silver; the
dresser and the table, at which Miss Hepzibah was at work, were white
as snow; and the array of tins on the wall was perfectly dazzling
with brightness. The wide diamond-paned casement stood open to admit
what little air happened to be abroad that sultry afternoon. How
pleasant it was, to be sure, to look out upon the flower-laden
garden; upon the sunny orchard, rich and golden with its precious