with down, his head and ears stuck about with feathers, and his eyes blazing green with defiance. She slammed and locked the door. "Run for the sheriff!" she cried, in terror, to the boy who had brought her market basket; and she followed him as he fled. "What is it, Mrs. Walters?" asked the sheriff, sternly, meeting her and bringing the handcuffs. "There's somebody in my bed!" she cried, wringing her hands. "I believe it's the devil." "It's my 'coon," said the carpenter, laughing; for by this time we were all gathered together. "What a dear 'coon!" said the sewing-girl. "Oh, Mrs. Walters! You are like Little Red Riding-hood!" said Sylvia. "I can't arrest a 'coon, madam!" exclaimed the sheriff, red in the neck at being made ridiculous. "Then arrest the carpenter!" cried poor, unhappy, excited Mrs. Walters, bursting into tears and hiding her face on Georgiana's shoulder. And among us all Georgiana was the only comforter. She laid aside her own work for that day, spent the rest of it as Samaritan to her desperately wounded neighbor, and at nightfall, over the bed, now peaceful and snowy once more, she spread a marvellous priceless quilt that she had long been making to exhibit at the approaching World's Fair in New York. "Georgiana," I said, as I walked home with her at bedtime, "it seems to me that things happen in order to show you off." "Only think!" Georgiana replied; "she will never get into bed again without a shiver and a glance at the chimney. I begrudge her the quilt for one reason: it has a piece of one of your old satin waistcoats in it." "Did she tell you that she had had those bedclothes ever since her marriage?" "Yes; but I have always felt that she couldn't have been married very long." "How long should you think?" "Oh, well--about a minute."