"
Alessandro found Aunt Ri in a sort of shanty on the outskirts of
San Bernardino. "Not to rights yit," she said,-- as if she ever would
be. Jeff had found work; and Jos, too, had been able to do a little
on pleasant days. He had made a loom and put up a loom-house for
his mother,-- a floor just large enough to hold the loom, rough
walls, and a roof; one small square window,-- that was all; but if
Aunt Ri had been presented with a palace, she would not have
been so well pleased. Already she had woven a rag carpet for
herself, was at work on one for a neighbor, and had promised as
many more as she could do before spring; the news of the arrival
of a rag-carpet weaver having gone with despatch all through the
lower walks of San Bernardino life. "I wouldn't hev bleeved they
hed so many rags besides what they're wearin'," said Aunt Ri, as
sack after sack appeared at her door. Already, too, Aunt Ri had
gathered up the threads of the village life; in her friendly,
impressionable way she had come into relation with scores of
people, and knew who was who, and what was what, and why,
among them all, far better than many an old resident of the town.
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