a Boston school for young ladies. Her mother had been dead many
years, and her father had died some two years ago, leaving her with
only a very little money, which was now all gone, and Evelina Adams
had invited her to live with her. Evelina Adams had herself told the
old gardener, seeing his scant curiosity was somewhat awakened by the
sight of the strange young lady in the garden, but he seemed to have
almost forgotten it when the people questioned him.

"She'll leave her all her money, most likely," they said, and they
looked at this new Evelina in the old Evelina's perfumed gowns with
awe.

However, in the space of a few months the opinion upon this matter
was divided. Another cousin of Evelina Adams's came to town, and this
time an own cousin--a widow in fine black bombazine, portly and
florid, walking with a majestic swell, and, moreover, having with her
two daughters, girls of her own type, not so far advanced. This woman
hired one of the village cottages, and it was rumored that Evelina
Adams paid the rent. Still, it was considered that she was not very
intimate with these last relatives. The neighbors watched, and saw,
many a time, Mrs. Martha Loomis and her girls try the doors of the
Adams house, scudding around angrily from front to side and back, and
knock and knock again, but with no admittance. "Evelina she won't let
none of 'em in more 'n once a week," the neighbors said. It was odd
that, although they had deeply resented Evelina's seclusion on their
own accounts, they were rather on her side in this matter, and felt a
certain delight when they witnessed a crestfallen retreat of the
widow and her daughters. "I don't s'pose she wants them Loomises
marchin' in on her every minute," they said.