Aunt Deel brought some luncheon wrapped in paper and the old woman took
it and went away. My aunt folded the sheets and put them in her trunk
and we thought no more of them until--but we shall know soon what
reminded us of the prophet woman.

The autumn passed swiftly. I went to the village one Saturday with Uncle
Peabody in high hope of seeing the Dunkelbergs, but at their door we
learned that they had gone up the river on a picnic. What a blow it was
to me! Tears flowed down my cheeks as I clung to my uncle's hand and
walked back to the main street of the village. A squad of small boys
jeered and stuck out their tongues at me. It was pity for my sorrows, no
doubt, that led Uncle Peabody to take me to the tavern for dinner, where
they were assuaged by cakes and jellies and chicken pie.

When we came out of the tavern we saw Benjamin Grimshaw and his son Amos
sitting on the well curb. Each had a half-eaten doughnut in one hand and
an apple in the other. I remember that Mr. Grimshaw said in a scolding
manner which made me dislike him:

"Baynes, I'm glad to see you're so prosperous. Only the rich can afford
to eat in taverns. Our dinner has cost us just three cents, an' I
wouldn't wonder if I was worth about as much as you are."

My uncle made no reply and we passed on to a store nearly opposite the
well, where I became deeply interested in a man who had tapped me in the
stomach with his forefinger while he made a sound like the squealing of
a rat. Then he said to Uncle Peabody:

"Look at that man out there by the well! He's the richest man in this
section o' country. He owns half o' this village. I wouldn't wonder if