tory that evening, with her compliments to Mrs. Ives; she had lost a lace veil, which her maid knew, and she thought it might have been left at the rectory.
"And Jones, when you are there, you can inquire of the servants; mind, of the servants—I would not distress Mrs. Ives for the world; how Mr.—Mr.—what's his name—Oh!—I have forgotten his name; just bring me his name too, Jones; and, as it may make some difference in our party, just find out how long they stay; and—and—any other little thing, Jones, which can be of use, you know."
Off went Jones, and within an hour she had returned. With an important look, she commenced her narrative, the daughters being accidentally present, and it might be on purpose.
"Why, ma'am, I went across the fields, and William was good enough to go with me; so when we got there, I rang, and they showed us into the servants' room, and I gave my message, and the veil was not there. Why, ma'am, there's the veil now, on the back o' that chair!"
"Very well, very well, Jones, never mind the veil," cried the impatient mistress.
"So, ma'am, while they were looking for the veil, I just asked one of the maids, what company had arrived, but"—here Jones looked very suspicious, and shook her head ominously—"would you think it, ma'am, not a soul of them knew! But, ma'am, there was the doctor and his son, praying and reading with the old gentleman the whole time—and"—
"And what, Jones?"
"Why, ma'am, I expect he has been a great sinner, or be wouldn't want so much praying just as he is about to die."
"Die!" cried all three at once: "will he die?"
"Oh yes," continued Jones, "they all agree he must die, but this praying so much, is just like the criminals. I'm sure no honest person needs so much praying, ma'am."
"No, indeed," said the mother. "No, indeed," responded the daughters, as they retired to their several rooms for the night.
