"Do you think," asked a second daughter with becoming hesitation,
"that he had anything to do with her death? Some of the neighbours
say he struck her while in one of his crazy fits, while others
declare she was killed by some stranger, equally old and almost as
infirm."

"We won't discuss the subject," objected the deacon. "Time will
show who robbed us of the greatest-hearted and most capable woman
in these parts."

"And will time show who killed Batsy?" It was a morsel of a girl
who spoke; the least one of the family, but the brightest. "I'm
sorry for Batsy; she always gave me cookies when I went to see
Mrs. Webb."

"Batsy was a good girl for a Swede," allowed the deacon's wife,
who had not spoken till now. "When she first came into town on the
spars of that wrecked ship we all remember, there was some
struggle between Agatha and me as to which of us should have her.
But I didn't like the task of teaching her the name of every pot
and pan she had to use in the kitchen, so I gave her up to Agatha;
and it was fortunate I did, for I've never been able to understand
her talk to this day."

"I could talk with her right well," lisped the little one. "She
never called things by their Swedish names unless she was worried;
and I never worried her."

"I wonder if she would have worshipped the ground under your feet,