CHAPTER III.
"Mrs.Saunders," said mother, "don't let that soap boil over.

Cassy, keep away from it." "Lord," replied Mrs.Saunders, "there's no fat in the bones to bile.
Cassy's grown dreadful fast, ain't she?
How long has the old man been dead, Mis Morgeson ?" "Three years, Mrs.Saunders." "How time do fly," remarked Mrs.Saunders, mopping her wrinkled face with a dark-blue handkerchief.

"The winter's sass is hardly put in the cellar 'fore we have to cut off the sprouts, and up the taters for planting agin.

We shall all foller him soon." And she stirred the bones in the great kettle with the vigor of an ogress.
When I heard her ask the question about Grandfather Locke, the interval that had elapsed since his death swept through my mind.

What a little girl I was at the time! How much had since happened! But no thought remained with me long.