Sally pricked up her ears. “What is it?” asked Miss Betsy.
“It is not to be mentioned, you will understand. I saw Alfred Barton to-day. He seems to take quite an interest in Mark, all at once, and he told me that the Hallowells are going to build a new barn this summer. He spoke to them of Mark, and thinks the work is almost sure.”
“Well, now!” Miss Betsy exclaimed, “if he gets that, after a year's journey-work, Mark is a made man. And I'll speak to Richard Rudd the next time I see him. He thinks he's beholden to me, since Sarah had the fever so bad. I don't like folks to think that, but there's times when it appears to come handy.”
Sally arose, flushed and silent, and brought a plate of cakes and a basket of apples from the pantry. The work was now wholly laid aside, and the stand cleared to receive the refreshments.
“Now pare your peels in one piece, girls,” Miss Betsy advised, “and then whirl 'em to find the initials o' your sweethearts' names.”
“You, too, Miss Betsy!” cried Sally, “we must find out the widower's name!”
“The widower's name,” Miss Betsy gravely repeated, as she took a knife.
With much mirth the parings were cut, slowly whirled three times around the head, and then let fly over the left shoulder. Miss Betsy's was first examined and pronounced to be an A.
“Who's A?” she asked.
“Alfred!” said Sally. “Now, Martha, here's yours—an S, no it's a G!”