They pried into everything with religious exactitude. Mrs. Polly
watched them with beseeming awe and deference, but it was a great
trial to her, and she grew very nervous over it. It seemed dreadful
to have all her husband's little personal effects, down to his
neck-band and mittens, handled over, and their worth in shillings and
pence calculated. She had a price fixed on them already in higher
currency.

Ann found her crying one afternoon sitting on the kitchen settle,
with her apron over her head. When she saw the little girl's pitying
look, she poured out her trouble to her.

"They've just been valuing _his_ mittens and gloves," said she,
sobbing, "at two-and-sixpence. I shall be thankful, when they are
through."

"Are there any more of _his_ things?" asked Ann, her black eyes
flashing, with the tears in them.

"I think they've seen about all. There's his blue jacket he used to
milk in, a-hanging behind the shed-door--I guess they haven't valued
that yet."

"I think it's a shame!" quoth Ann. "I don't believe there's any need
of so much law."

"Hush, child! You mustn't set yourself up against the judgment of
your elders. Such things have to be done."

Ann said no more, but the indignant sparkle did not fade out of her