stop all talk, and there's been a heap of it, I can tell you. Of course, I
and my folks don't believe anything's been wrong."

"Believing that something was wrong is about all the attention my neighbors
have given me, as far as I can see," Holcroft remarked bitterly.

"Well, you see, Holcroft, you've kept yourself so inside your shell that
people don't know what to believe. Now, the thing to do is to change all
that. I know how hard it is for a man, placed as you be, to get decent help.
My wife was a-wondering about it the other day, and I shut her up mighty
sudden by saying, 'You're a good manager, and know all the country side, yet
how often you're a-complaining that you can't get a girl that's worth her salt
to help in haying and other busy times when we have to board a lot of men.'
Well, I won't beat around the bush any more. I've come to act the part of a
good neighbor. There's no use of you're trying to get along with such
haphazard help as you can pick up here and in town. You want a respectable
woman for housekeeper, and then have a cheap, common sort of a girl to work
under her. Now, I know of just such a woman, and it's not unlikely she'd be
persuaded to take entire charge of your house and dairy. My wife's cousin,
Mrs. Mumpson--" At the mention of this name Holcroft gave a slight start,
feeling something like a cold chill run down his back.

Mr. Weeks was a little disconcerted but resumed, "I believe she called on your
wife once?"

"Yes," the farmer replied laconically. "I was away and did not see her."

"Well, now," pursued Mr. Weeks, "she's a good soul. She has her little
peculiarities; so have you and me, a lot of 'em; but she's thoroughly
respectable, and there isn't a man or woman in the town that would think of