relatives of her husband's, and it would be a mercy if they could let
their daughter come and visit her; she would not call it more than a
visit; that would be the best thing on both sides; she told of her great
fancy for Clementina the first time she saw her, and of her husband's
wish that she would come and visit with them then for the winter. As for
that money she had tried to make the child take, she presumed that they
knew about it, and she wished to say that she did it because she was
afraid Mr. Lander had said so much about the sewing, that they would be
disappointed. She gave way to her tears at the recollection, and
confessed that she wanted the child to have the money anyway. She ended
by asking Mrs. Claxon if she would please to let her have a drink of
water; and she looked about the room, and said that they had got it
finished up a great deal, now, had not they? She made other remarks upon
it, so apt that Mrs. Claxon gave her a sort of permissive invitation to
look about the whole lower floor, ending with the kitchen.

Mrs. Lander sat down there while Mrs. Claxon drew from the pipes a glass
of water, which she proudly explained was pumped all over the house by
the wind mill that supplied the power for her husband's turning lathes.

"Well, I wish mah husband could have tasted that wata," said Mrs. Lander,
as if reminded of husbands by the word, and by the action of putting down
the glass. "He was always such a great hand for good, cold wata. My! He'd
'a liked youa kitchen, Mrs. Claxon. He always was such a home-body, and
he did get so ti'ed of hotels. For all he had such an appearance, when
you see him, of bein'--well!--stiff and proud, he was fah moa common in
his tastes--I don't mean common, exactly, eitha--than what I was; and
many a time when we'd be drivin' through the country, and we'd pass some
o' them long-strung-out houses, don't you know, with the kitchen next to
the wood shed, and then an ahchway befoa you get to the stable, Mr. Landa