daily grew more homelike, led her to employ all her tact in adding to his
enjoyment. Yet so fine was her tact that her manner was a simple embodiment
of good will, and he was made to feel that it was nothing more.

While all was passing so genially and satisfactorily to Holcroft, it may well
be supposed that his conduct was not at all to the mind of his neighbors.
News, especially during the busy spring season, permeates a country
neighborhood slowly. The fact of his marriage had soon become known, and
eventually, through Justice Harkins, the circumstances relating to it and
something of Alida's previous history, in a garbled form, came to be discussed
at rural firesides. The majority of the men laughed and shrugged their
shoulders, implying it was none of their business, but not a few, among whom
was Lemuel Weeks, held up their hands and spoke of the event in terms of the
severest reprehension. Many of the farmers' wives and their maiden sisters
were quite as much scandalized as Mrs. Watterly had been that an unknown
woman, of whom strange stories were told, should have been brought into the
community from the poorhouse, "and after such a heathenish marriage, too,"
they said. It was irregular, unprecedented, and therefore utterly wrong and
subversive of the morals of the town.

They longed to ostracize poor Alida, yet saw no chance of doing so. They
could only talk, and talk they did, in a way that would have made her ears
tingle had she heard.

The young men and older boys, however, believed that they could do more than
talk. Timothy Weeks had said to a group of his familiars, "Let's give old
Holcroft and his poorhouse bride a skimelton that will let 'em know what folks
think of 'em."

The scheme found favor at once, and Tim Weeks was soon recognized as organizer