CHAPTER XVII.
AUNT DEBORAH.
Miss Deborah Kensington sat in an old-fashioned rocking-chair covered with a cheap print, industriously engaged in footing a stocking.

She was a maiden lady of about sixty, with a thin face, thick seamed with wrinkles, a prominent nose, bridged by spectacles, sharp gray eyes, and thin lips.

She was a shrewd New England woman, who knew very well how to take care of and increase the property which she had inherited.

Her nephew had been correctly informed as to her being close-fisted.

All her establishment was carried on with due regard to economy, and though her income in the eyes of a city man would be counted small, she saved half of it every year, thus increasing her accumulations.
As she sat placidly knitting, an interruption came in the shape of a knock at the front door.
"I'll go myself," she said, rising, and laying down the stocking.
"Hannah's out in the back room, and won't hear.