Ho! ho! ho! Them was her very
words. An' 'Melia, she tossed her bunnit on (one o' them straw Shakers
it was, an' that's what made me think o' the story), and jes' shook the
glass out'n her sleeve,--_I_ d' 'no' why the child warn't cut to pieces,
but she didn't seem t' have got no hurt,--and made a face at her aunt,
an' off she went. That's the way them children was brought up."
"Poor things!" cried Hilda. "What became of them, Farmer Hartley?"
"'Melia, she run off an' married a circus feller," replied the farmer,
"an' the boys, I don't rightly know _what_ become of 'em. They went out
West, I b'lieve; an' after 'Melia married, Cephas went out to jine 'em,
an' I ain't heerd nothin' of 'em for years."
By this time they were rattling through the main street of the little
village, and presently stopped before an unpretending little shop, in
the window of which were displayed some rather forlorn-looking hats and
bonnets.
"Here y'are, Huldy!" said the farmer, pointing to the shop with a
flourish of his whip. "Here's whar ye git the styles fust hand. Hev to
come from New York to Glenfield to git the reel thing, ye see."
"I see!" laughed Hilda, springing lightly from the wagon.
"I'll call for ye in 'bout half an hour;" and with a kindly nod the
farmer drove away down the street.
Hildegarde entered the dingy little shop with some misgivings, "I hope I
shall find _something_ fresh!" she said to herself; "those things in the
window look as if they had been there since the Flood.
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