But he's buyin' up old dishes an' all matter o' truck. He wanted my
andirons, an' I told him if I hadn't got a son in a Boston store, he
might ha' come round me, but I know the vally o' things now. You don't
want to sell them blue coverlids o' yourn, do ye?"

Aunt Melissa sometimes asked the old lady questions from a sense of the
requirements of conversation, and she was invariably startled when they
elicited an answer.

"Them coverlids I wove myself, fifty-five years ago come next spring,"
said Mrs. Green, firmly. "Sally Ann Mason an' me used to set up till
the clock struck twelve that year, spinnin' an' weavin'. Then we had a
cup or two o' green tea, an' went to bed."

"Well, you wove 'em, an' you don't want to sell 'em," said Aunt
Melissa, her eyes on her work. "If you do, 'Lijah he'll take 'em right
up to Boston for you, an' I warrant he'll git you a new white spread
for every one on 'em."

"That was the year afore I was married," continued Old Lady Green. "I
had a set o' white chiny with lavender sprigs, an' my dress was
changeable. He had a flowered weskit. 'Mandy, you go into the
clo'es-press in my bedroom an' git out that weskit, an' some o' them
quilts, an' my M's an' O's table-cloths."

Amanda rose and hurried into the bedroom, in spite of Aunt Melissa's
whispered comment: "What makes you go to overhaulin' things? She'll
forgit it in a minute."

While she was absent, a smart wagon drove up to the gate, and a young