"That's so, Hetty; that's so," said the deacon, with tears rolling down
his wrinkled cheeks. "Jim wasn't a bad boy. He never meant to harm
anybody, and he hasn't had any chance at all since that happened. It
seems as if it took all the spirit right out of him; and Sally, she
hasn't got any spirit either: she's been nothin' but a millstone round
his neck. It's a mercy the baby died: that's one thing."

"I don't think so at all, Mr. Little," said Hetty, vehemently. "I think
if the baby had lived, it would have strengthened them both. It would
have made Sally much happier, at any rate. She is a motherly little
thing."

"Yes," said the old man, reluctantly. "Sally's affectionate; I won't
deny that: but"--and an expression of exceeding bitterness passed over
his face--"I wish to the Lord I needn't ever lay my eyes on her face
again! I can't feel right towards her, and I don't suppose I ever
shall."

"I wouldn't wonder if the time came when she was a real comfort to you,
Mr. Little," said Hetty, cheerily. "You get them to come and live with
me and see what that'll do. I can afford to give Jim more than he can
make at surveying. I have a notion he's a better farmer than he is
engineer, isn't he?"

"Yes, there's nothing Jim don't know about a farm. I always did hope
he'd settle down here at home with us. But we couldn't have Sally in the
house: it would have killed Mrs. Little. It gives her a day's nervous
headache now, long ago 's 'tis, whenever she sees her on the street."

"Well, well," said Hetty, impatiently, "she won't give anybody nervous