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smiled. "I have no liking for
arrests," and the glint of her eye rested for a moment on
Frederick. "Mr. Sutherland," she continued, as that gentleman
appeared at the dining-room door, "I shall have to impose upon
your hospitality for a few days longer. These men here inform me
that my innocent interest in pointing out to you that spot of
blood on Mrs. Webb's lawn has awakened some curiosity, and that I
am wanted as a witness by the coroner."
    Mr. Sutherland, with a quick stride, lessened the distance between
himself and these unwelcome intruders. "The coroner's wishes are
paramount just now," said he, but the look he gave his son was not
soon forgotten by the spectators.

IX - A Grand Woman
*
    There was but one topic discussed in the country-side that day,
and that was the life and character of Agatha Webb.
    Her history had not been a happy one. She and Philemon had come
from Portchester some twenty or more years before to escape the
sorrows associated with their native town. They had left behind
them six small graves in Portchester churchyard; but though
evidences of their affliction were always to be seen in the
countenances of either, they had entered with so much purpose into
the life of their adopted town that they had become persons of
note there till Philemon's health began to fail, when Agatha quit
all outside work and devoted herself exclusively to him. Of her
character and winsome personality we can gather some idea from the
various conversations carried on that day from Portchester Green
to the shipyards in Sutherlandtown.
    In Deacon Brainerd's cottage, the discussion was concerning
Agatha's lack of vanity; a virtue not very common at that time
among the women of this busy seaport.
    "For a woman so handsome," the good deacon was saying "(and I
think I can safely call her the finest-featured woman who ever
trod these streets), she showed as little interest in dress as
anyone I ever knew. Calico at home and calico at church, yet she
looked as much of a lady in her dark-sprigged gowns as Mrs.
Webster in her silks or Mrs. Parsons in her thousand-dollar
sealskin."
    As this was a topic within the scope of his eldest daughter's
intelligence she at once spoke up: "I never thought she needed to
dress so plainly. I don't believe in such a show of poverty
myself. If one is too poor to go decent, all right; but they say
she had more money than most anyone in town. I wonder who is going
to get the benefit of it?"
    "Why, Philemon, of course; that is, as long as he lives. He
doubtless had the making of it."
    "Is it true that he's gone clean out of his head since her death?"
interposed a neighbour who had happened in.
    "So they say. I believe widow Jones has taken him into her house."
    "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