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"So, Miss Silence," said Uncle Jaw, deliberately, "you don't think you'll do anything about that 'ere matter."

"What matter ?" said Silence, with an intonation resembling that of a roasted chestnut when it bursts from the fire.

"I railly thought, Miss Silence, in that 'ere talk I had with you about Squire Jones's cheatin' about that 'ere-"

"Mr. Adams," said Silence, "I tell you, to begin with, I'm not a going to be sauced in this 'ere way by you. You ha'n't got common decency, nor common sense, nor common anything else, to talk so to me about my father: I won't bear it, I tell you.'

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"Why, Miss Jones," said Uncle Jaw, "how you talk! Well, to be sure, Squire Jones is dead and gone, and it's as well not to call it cheatin', as I was tellin' Deacon Enos when he was talking about that 'ere lot that 'ere lot, you know, that he sold the deacon, and never let him have the deed on't."

"That's a lie," said Silence, starting on her feet; "that's an up and down black lie! I tell you that now, before you say another word.”

"Miss Silence, railly, you seem to be getting touchy," said Uncle Jaw; "well, to be sure, if the deacon can let that pass, other folks can, and maybe the deacon will, because Squire Jones was a

church member, and the deacon is 'mazin' tender about bringing out anything against professors; but railly, now, Miss Silence, I didn't think you and Susan were going to work it so cunning in this here way."

"I don't know what you mean, and, what's more, I don't care," said Silence, resuming her work, and calling back the bolt, upright dignity with which she began.

There was a pause of some moments, during which the features of Silence worked with suppressed rage, which was contemplated by Uncle Jaw with undisguised satisfaction.

"You see, I s'pose, I shouldn't a minded your Susan's setting out to court up my Joe, if it hadn't a been for those things."

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Courting your son! Mr. Adams, I should like to know what you mean by that. I'm sure nobody wants your son, though he's a civil, likely fellow enough; yet with such an old dragon for a father, I'll warrant he won't get anybody to court him, nor be courted by him neither."

"Railly, Miss Silence, you a'n't hardly civil, now."

"Civil! I should like to know who could be civil? You know, now, as well as I do, that you are say. ing all this out of clear, sheer ugliness; and that's what you keep a doing all round the neighbour. hood."

"Miss Silence," said Uncle Jaw, "I don't want no hard words with you. It's pretty much known round the neighbourhood that your Susan thinks she'll get my Joe, and I s'pose you was thinking that perhaps it would be the best way of settling up matters; but you see, now, I took and tell'd my son I railly didn't see as I could afford it; I took and tell'd him that young folks must have something considerable to start with; and that, if Susan lost that 'ere piece of ground, as is likely she will, it would be cutting off quite too much of a piece; so, you see, I don't want you to take no encourage. ment about that."

“Well, I think this is pretty well!" exclaimed Silence, provoked beyond measure or endurance; "you old torment! think I don't know what you're at? I and Susan courting your son? I wonder if you a'n't ashamed of yourself, now! I should like to know what I or she have done, now, to get that notion into your head?"

"I didn't s'pose you 'spected to get him your. self," said Uncle Jaw, "for I guess by this time you've pretty much gin up trying, ha'n't ye? But Susan does, I'm pretty sure.

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Here, Susan! Susan! you-come down !" called Miss Silence, in great wrath, throwing open the chamber door. “Mr. Adams wants to speak with you." Susan, fluttering and agitated, slowly de

scended into the room, where she stopped, and looked hesitatingly, first at Uncle Jaw and then at her sister, who, without ceremony, proposed the subject-matter of the interview as follows:

"Now, Susan, here's this man pretends to say that you've been a courting and snaring to get his son, and I just want you to tell him that you ha'n't never had no thought of him, and that you won't have, neither."

This considerate way of announcing the subject had the effect of bringing the burning colour into Susan's face, as she stood like a convicted culprit, with her eyes bent on the floor.

Uncle Jaw, savage as he was, was always moved by female loveliness, as wild beasts are said to be mysteriously swayed by music, and looked on the beautiful, downcast face with more softening than Miss Silence, who, provoked that Susan did not immediately respond to the question, seized her by the arm and eagerly reiterated,

"Susan! why don't you speak, child ?"

Gathering desperate courage, Susan shook off the hand of Silence, and straightened herself up with as much dignity as some little flower lifts up its head when it has been bent down by rain-drops.

"Silence," she said, "I never would have come down if I had thought it was to hear such things as this. Mr. Adams, all I have to say to you is, that

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your son has sought me, and not I your son. you wish to know any more, he can tell you better than I."

"Well, I vow! she is a pretty girl," said Uncle Jaw, as Susan shut the door.

This exclamation was involuntary; then recollecting himself, he picked up his hat, and saying, “Well, I guess I may as well get along hum," he began to depart; but, turning round before he shut the door, he said, "Miss Silence, if you should conclude to do anything about that 'ere fence, just send word over and let me know."

Silence, without deigning any reply, marched up into Susan's little chamber, where our heroine was treating resolution to a good fit of crying.

"Susan, I did not think you had been such a fool," said the lady. "I do want to know, now, if you've railly been thinking of getting married, and to that Joe Adams of all folks!"

Poor Susan! such an interlude in all her pretty romantic little dreams about kindred feelings and a hundred other delightful ideas, that flutter like sing. ing-birds through the fairy-land of first love. Such an interlude! to be called on by gruff human voices to give up all the cherished secrets that she had trembled to whisper even to herself. She felt as if love itself had been defiled by the coarse, rough hands that had been meddling with it; so to her

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