In a small town like Boston, you'd think it would be impossible to have a conversation about anything without being eavesdropped on. Indeed, the whole place was set up to make it so – they deliver the mail, not to your house, but to the nearest tavern, and if you don't come round and pick it up after a few days the publican will open it up and read it aloud to whomever is in attendance. So Daniel had assumed that Mrs. Goose would be listening in on the whole conversation. But instead she is completely absorbed in her work, as if telling yarns to a boy were more important than this great Decision that Daniel is wrestling with, here at damn near the end of his long life.