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The countenance of Squire Stout immediately fell. His conscience told him she was right, and that the town had bargained for the support of its helpless poor, to take suitable care of them -- meaning good and kind care -- but that its chief desire, after all, had been to hire them out, so as to cost the town the least possible sum, so as to be sure of hearing nothing further of them.

"Yes," said she -- and all the other ladies listened, and now and then said a few words -- "the town, Mr. Stout, Welshes them kept in a suitable manner, and pays seven hundred dollars that they may be so kept. But is it fulfilling the contract to pinch them in fuel, bedding, nursing, and medicine, and to feed them on the coarsest of beef, and the very worst pieces of the slaughter-house? on unmerchantable ham and pork, on tainted butter, and food, in general, revolting to the taste? But the poor here, and every where in similar circumstances, are so kept."

"Oh -- well -- hang it, Mrs. Haddock -- but then, you see -- they are a plaguy ugly set to have any thing to do with. And God -- in mercy to them, as I think -- has made them less sensitive to these matters than other folks are, so they wouldn't mind it at all -- as we may say -- if -- that is, I rather think so -- if somebody didn't tell them of it. Don't you think so, Mr. Rodman?"

Like all clergymen, Rev. Mr. Rodman felt himself a sort of town pauper, dependent on the salary which the good will of his people gave him. That salary was small enough, in all good reason, as he well knew, to meet his wants; but it was better than none, and he honestly believed it was fairly his due. Squire Stout was one of his particular friends, and he did not like to differ from him in a point where the Squire might be supposed to have some sensitiveness. On the other hand, Mrs. Haddock was also one of his particularly kind friends, and a lady of very great superiority of character. He did not know at first what to say, and he was on the point of taking the usual course of half this and half that, attempting some pacificatory remarks, when he encountered the mildly beaming eye and calm, expressive countenance of his own wife, who sat at her ease among the ladies, a little at the other side of the room. Mr. Rodman was not the only one who, in like circumstances, has felt a wife's support; even though she may not offer a word, her look has often been enough to strengthen the heart of one who trusteth in her. And so Mr. Rodman, as he encountered the calm, yet speaking countenance of his wife, read there in an instant his duty, and replied, as any man ought --

"I think, Squire Stout, that it is our duty to befriend them, to repent of our indifference to them, and for the future, to treat them as though they were bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh. They certainly deserve from this Christian community every degree of attention consistent with our means; and so far are they, in my opinion, from wanting in sensitiveness on this point, they feel, more than any body else can feel for them, their degradation and sufferings."

Mrs. Rodman rewarded her husband with a smile and a tear. Mrs. Haddock and Mr. Stout prolonged the conversation awhile, the latter affirming that there must be some mistake in Mrs. Haddock's estimate of their sufferings and destitution, because Captain Bunce was a merciful and humane man. He however said that he would, some time or other, call down and see him, and look over the establishment.

After this, the ladies became interested in some village gossip, chatted merrily with the gentlemen who arrived, estimated their missionary work, as usual, at a high figure, and laid many a plan for the future building up of their society through the instrumentality of the needle. Every body said it had been a most interesting society-day, and so one by one the party left.

"And who are all these grand folks, I wonder, flourishing about with their fur caps, and bonnets, and buffalo skins, and fine sleighs and tinkling bells? "Wonder if they ever think of poor folks? Wonder if they ever was poor? Wonder if they ever had a father or mother to take care of them? They don't care for me, I know; nor do I care for them. They are proud, I know; they are rich, I s'pose. But who makes them rich? Wonder if they'd be rich if I were to burn down their houses? Good mind to; they don't prize their houses. They don't deserve them, neither, as I can see. What do they care for poor Bojce or aunt Prescott? "Who cared for Joe? Nobody. Mag says they are mean. Who cares for Jims? Who gives him any thing but kicks and sneers? Jims's as good as any on 'em. Here's a match I I'm almost minded to burn down this shed and store! I can set it a-fire -- nobody'll see me -- nobody'll care. Here's some straw; it'll blaze in half a minute. I will!"

The poor neglected Jims -- for it was he -- strayed off from home, and shivering under a shed, among the horses, where he had a view of the people going to and coming from this festive society, thus soliloquized and reasoned. The boy had never done any thing so bad as this which he now began to contemplate. He had committed little thefts, and been guilty of sundry smaller wicked actions; but now he took the match in his hand, impelled by the spirit of evil, and stealthily approached the corner of the shed where he had observed the loose straw. He was acting wildly, against his conscience, but in accordance with his hatred and revenge. Just as he stooped down to light the match, the low growl of a dog half covered in the straw arrested him, and caused him to start back.