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occasionally a neighboring
clergyman to be entertained. But these came few and far between, and
Sophy Chantrey found herself very much alone amid the banners and
souvenirs that banished her boy from the house.
Mrs. Bolton herself was very often away. There was always something

to be done in the parish which should by right have been Sophy's work,
but her aunt had always discouraged any interference and David had
been quite content to keep her to himself, as there was so able a
substitute for her in the ordinary duties of a clergyman's wife. She had
made but few acquaintances, and it was generally understood that Mrs.
Chantrey was quite a cipher. No one ever expected her to become
prominent in Upton.
About half-way down the High street of Upton stood a small
old-fashioned saddler's shop, the door of which was divided across the
middle, so as to form two parts, the upper one always thrown open.
Above the doorway, under a low-gabled roof, hung a cracked and
mouldering sign-board, bearing the words "Ann Holland, Saddler." All
the letters were faded, yet a keen eye might detect that the name "Ann"
was more distinct than the others, as if painted at a later date. Within
the shop an old journeyman was always to be seen, busy at his trade,
and taking no heed of any customer coming in, unless the ringing of a
bell on the lower half of the door remained unnoticed, when he would
shamble away to call his mistress. In an evening after the twilight had
set in, and it was too dark for her own ornamental stitching of the
saddlery. Ann Holland was often to be found leaning over the half-door
of her shop, and ready to exchange a friendly good-night, or a more
lengthy conversation, with her townsfolk as they passed to and fro. She
was a rosy, cheery-looking woman, still under fifty, with a pleasant
voice and a friendly word for every one, and it was well known that she
had refused several offers of marriage, some of them very eligible for a
person of her station. There was not one of the townspeople she had not
known from their earliest appearance in Upton, and she had the
pedigree of all the families, high and low, at her finger-ends.
New-comers she could only tolerate until they had lived respectably
and paid their debts punctually for a good number of years. She had a
kindly love of gossip, a simple real interest in the fortunes of all about
her. There was little else for her to think of, for books and newspapers
came seldom in her way, and were often far above her comprehension
when they did, Upton news that would bring tears to her eyes or a
laugh to her lips was the food her mind lived upon. Ann Holland was
almost as general a favorite as the rector himself.

It was some months after David Chantrey had gone to Madeira that
Ann Holland was lingering late one evening over her door, watching
the little street subside into the quietness of night. The wife of one of
her best customers was passing by, and stopped to speak to her.
"Have you happened to hear any talk of Mrs. Chantrey?" she asked.
Her voice fell into a low and mysterious tone, and she glanced up and
down the street lest any one should chance to be within hearing. Ann
Holland quickly guessed there was something important to be told, and
she opened the half door to her neighbor.
"Come in, Mrs. Brown," she said; "Richard's not at home yet."
She led the way into the room behind the shop, as pleasant a place as
any in all Upton, except for the scent of the leather, which she had
grown so used to that its absence would have seemed a loss. It was a
kitchen spotlessly clean, with an old-fashioned polished dresser and
shelves above it filled with pewter plates and dishes, upon which every
gleam of firelight twinkled. A tall mahogany clock, with its head
against the ceiling, and the round, good-humored face of a full moon
beaming above its dial-plate, stood in one corner; while in the opposite
one there was a corner cupboard with glass doors, filled with antique
china cups and tea-pots, and a Chinese mandarin that never ceased to
roll its head to and fro helplessly. Bean-pots of flowers, as Ann Holland
called them, covered the broad window-sill; and a screen, adorned with
fragments of old ballads, and with newspaper announcements of births,
deaths, and marriages among Upton people, was drawn across the outer
door, which opened into a little garden at the back of the house. There
was a miniature parlor behind the kitchen, filled with furniture worked
in tent stitch