could be seen half a dozen jars of barber-pole candy hobnobbing sociably
with boxes of tobacco, bags of beans, kits of salted mackerel, slabs of
codfish, spools of thread, hairpins, knives and forks, and last, but by
no means least, a green lobster swimming about in a large dishpan.

Morton wondered what this stranger could have expected better than this,
and remarked encouragingly,--

"She's got carpets on most all her rooms, and she hooks the nicest rugs
in Killamet,--all big flowers, or cats lying down,--the prettiest you
ever saw!"

"Aunt Felicie, do you hear that?" flinging the question over his
shoulder. "We are about to meet your rival! You paint flowers, and
she,--just hear the alarming word,--she 'hooks' them! Cats, too, and
dogs, did you say? Does the verb have a dishonest meaning here in
Killamet, my boy?"

Morton stared back wonderingly, not understanding much except that in
some way either he or Miss Zeba, or perhaps Killamet in general, was
being held up to ridicule, and that it was his business to resent it.

"I don't know, sir," he answered stoutly, "what you mean: but if you
want to know whether Miss Zeba is a nice woman, I can tell you that;
she's just as good as gold, sir! and I suppose if folks don't like our
ways in Killamet they needn't come here, there's plenty of room outside,
I guess."

The young man turned and gave him a critical look, which soon grew
approving, then held out his hand. "This is the second time I've had to