FROM  the  social  eminences  of  Abraham  Henry  Tatem's
sugar  barrels,  and  in  private  feminine  circles,  the  failing
health  of  Squire  Ogilvie  was  fully  discussed.  "Judith'll
never  allow  her  poor  old  father  to  give  up  until  he  drops,"
appeared  to  bo  the  verdict  of  women  who  indulged  aged
parents  in  traditional  chimney  corners.  "The  squire's
past  seventy-five,  and  still  called  afore  daylight  to  eat  by
a  candle  in  midwinter,"  Polly  Button  imprudently
divulged  during  a  temporary  coolness  which  once  existed
between  Miss  Ogilvie  and  herself.  Through  the  fort
night  which  barred  her  from  the  rear  door  of  the  Tavern,
the  enraged  gossip  traversed  the  village  berating  Judith,
and  urging  confidences  which  were  all  vigorously  denied
when  a  reconciliation  took  place.  At  this  time  Polly
promulgated  an  open  secret,  and  charged  Miss  Ogilvie
with  ruling  her  father  with  a  rod  of  iron.  She  also
agreed  that  the  aunt's  treatment  of  her  niece,  Marcy
O'Connell,  had  been  inhuman  from  the  child's  very
cradle.  For  two  weeks  Mrs.  Sutton  espoused  the  cause
of  orphans  with  true  zeal.  She  declared  indignantly  that
it  was  as  foolish  to  expect  the  mistress  of  the  Tavern  to
lavish  sympathy  upon  a  weakling  as  to  look  for  a  fresh
growth  from  a  burnt  tree.
