to her. And to study music, too? A most noble
accomplishment, my dear. My grandmother, who
was an Erskine, you know, played divinely on the
harp, and many of my ancestors, especially the Dagworthys,
were accomplished musicians. Your sister
will look lovely bending over a harp. My grandmother
had her portrait painted that way by Peale,
and it still hangs in the old house in Trenton. And
they tell me you have brought a little angel with you
to bring up and share your loneliness? How pathetic,
and how good of you!"

The village women--they came in groups--asked
dozens of questions before Jane had had even time
to shake each one by the hand. Was Lucy so in love
with the life abroad that she would never come back?
was she just as pretty as ever? what kind of bonnets
were being worn? etc., etc.

The child in Martha's arms was, of course, the
object of special attention. They all agreed that
it was a healthy, hearty, and most beautiful baby;
just the kind of a child one would want to adopt
if one had any such extraordinary desires.

This talk continued until they had gained the
highway, when they also agreed--and this without
a single dissenting voice--that in all the village Jane
Cobden was the only woman conscientious enough
to want to bring up somebody else's child, and a