said in favor of my farm! And, take it in the autumn, what can be pleasanter than to spend a whole day on the sunny side of a barn or a wood-pile, chatting with somebody as old as one’s self; or, perhaps, idling away the time with a natural-born simpleton, who knows how to be idle, because even our busy Yankees never have found out how to put him to any use?

Upon my word, Miss Hepzibah, I doubt whether I’ve ever been so comfortable as I mean to be at my farm, which most folks call the workhouse. But you, — you’re a young woman yet, — you never need go there! Something still better will turn up for you. I’m sure of it!”

Hepzibah fancied that there was something peculiar in her venerable friend’s look and tone; insomuch, that she gazed into