“So I'm to keep house for you,” she concluded. Adding: “For a spell, anyhow.”
“Why do you say that?” asked the minister.
“Well, you might not like me. You may be particular, you know.”
“I think I can run that risk.”
“Yes; well, you can't tell. Or I might not like you. You see, I'm pretty particular myself,” she added with a laugh.
At the Daniels's door Keziah turned her new charge over to Matilda Snow, the hired girl. It was an indication of the family's social position that they kept “hired help.” This was unusual in Trumet in those days, even among the well to do.
“Good night,” said the young man, extending his hand. “Good night, Miss—or is it Mrs.—Coffin?”
“Mrs. Good night.”
“She's a widow,” explained Matilda. “Husband died 'fore she come back here to live. Guess he didn't amount to much; she never mentions his name.”
“There was one thing I meant to tell her,” mused the minister, hesitating on the threshold. “I meant to tell her not to attempt any cleaning up at the parsonage to-night. To-morrow will do just as well.”