"Well, May," said Gregory, "how're ye feelin' to-day? hearty? that's
clever! I hope you wasn't frettin' about that pin any. Most girls
would, but you ain't the fool kind."

"I don't know, Mr. Gregory!" said Mary, laughing. "I'm afraid I have
thought about it more or less, but I haven't been fretting. Where's
the use?"

"Jes' so! jes' so!" assented the old man, with alacrity.

"And I didn't say anything to Mother," Mary went on. "I didn't want
her to know about it unless something was really coming of it. Poor
Mother! she has enough to think about."

"She has so!" said Gregory. "A sight o' thinkin' your mother doos,
Mary, and good thoughts, every one of 'em, I'll bet my next pay.
She's a good woman, your mother; I guess likely you know it without
me sayin' so. I call Susan Denison the best woman I know, and I've
told my wife so, more times than she says she has any occasion for.
I don't say she's an angel, but she's a good woman, and that's as fur
as we're likely to get in this world.

"But that ain't what I wanted to say to you, May! Somehow or 'nother,
the story's got round about your findin' that pin yesterday. You
didn't say nothin'?"

"Not a word!" said Mary. "How could it--"

"'Twas that pison Hitchcock, I expect!" said Gregory. "I see him
lookin' up with his little eyes, as red as a ferret, and as ugly. I