Chapter V: Part 5

Ransquattle was angry too. "No unfair dealing about it, eh!" he muttered, looking after them. "Well, I say there has been; they've managed to keep other fellows at a distance from the girl without any regard to her wishes. But I'll soon put a stop to that game, my lads. See if I don't."

He took a letter from his pocket as he spoke, unfolded it, handling it tenderly, and glanced over the contents with a smile of self-congratulation.

"Ah, ha! we'll see if she'll be able to resist this!" he said, half aloud, as he refolded and returned it to its place in the breast-pocket of his coat.

A sleigh was at that moment standing at the front door of the yellow house on the corner and into it Mr. Keith was assisting his wife and aunt. Then followed the babe and the three next in age. They were going to the country, to spend the day with their Lansdale acquaintances, the Wards.

Mildred, Rupert, Zillah and Ada stood in the doorway to see them off.

"You won't be back to tea?" Mildred said inquiringly.

"No; but by bedtime," her father answered as he turned the horses' heads. "Now go in, all of you, out of the cold before you catch the ague."

"What did Claudina say?" asked Mildred, addressing Rupert as they obeyed the order.

"Yes, of course; isn't she always glad of a chance to come here?"

"That's good. How soon?"

"In about half an hour, I believe she said. So you'd better hear Ada's lessons and have them out of the way."

It was some weeks now since Ada's heart had been rejoiced by a final deliverance from Miss Drybread's control and a return to the instruction of her sister. Mr. Lord still kept up his class and Mildred's zeal for study had not abated, but the minister had a funeral to attend at a distant point that afternoon; so there would be no recitations to interfere with the pleasure of a day with Claudina. Celestia Ann still kept her position in the family, and though only ten o'clock, the house was in order, and dinner and tea would require no supervision by the eldest daughter of the house.

Claudina brought her sewing, and the two passed an uneventful, but pleasant day together, chatting over their work or reading aloud in turn; for Claudina was nearly as great a lover of books as was Mildred.

Their talk was not largely of their neighbors, but some jests passed between them at Ransquattle's expense. They were quite severe in their criticisms, as young things are too apt to be; but if the ears of the victim burned it was not enough to prevent the act of folly he had in contemplation.

Tea was over, Miss Hunsinger had removed the dishes to the kitchen; Mildred spread a bright colored cover over the table, placed the candles on it, and she and Claudina settled themselves to their sewing again; Zillah and Ada were the only other occupants of the room, Rupert having gone out.

Presently there came a knock at the outer door.

"I'll go," said Ada, running to open it.

A man, Nicholas Ransquattle, stood on the threshold. Stepping past the child without speaking, he made directly for Mildred, and silently extended his right hand, between the thumb and forefinger of which he held a letter.

In a sort of maze the girl took it, and with one of his profound obeisances, of one of which Cyril had remarked, "I thought he was going to squattle on the stove when he put his head down so low," he withdrew without having spoken a word.

They could hear the crackling of the snow under his heavy tread as he walked away.

"O Milly, what is it? what is it? what did he bring it for? had he been to the post-office?" the little girls were asking with eager curiosity.

Mildred turned to Claudina. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, then burst into a simultaneous hearty laugh.

"Did ever you see such a comical performance?"

"Never! It's addressed to you of course?"

"Yes."

Seizing a candle, laughing and blushing, "Come, help me to read it," Mildred said. "We'll go up stairs where we won't be disturbed."

"Mayn't we go too? mayn't we know what your letter's about?" pleaded the little girls as the older ones were hurrying away.

"No, no! tisn't the sort for children like you to know about," laughed the sister. "Be good and stay here. We won't be gone long; and some day, perhaps, I'll tell you what it says."

They hurried through the kitchen where Miss Hunsinger was vigorously setting things to rights, up the crooked stairway and on into Aunt Wealthy's room, fastened the door and proceeded to examine the missive.

It was an offer to Miss Mildred Keith, of the heart, hand and fortune of the writer, Nicholas Ransquattle, who denominated himself her devoted worshiper and slave, and addressed her as an angel and the loveliest and sweetest of created beings. The girls giggled over it at first, but at length Mildred threw it down in supreme disgust.

"Such stuff and nonsense! it's perfectly sickening! I'm anything but an angel; especially when I lose my temper. And I believe I'm losing it now; for I feel insulted by an offer from such a conceited booby!"

"Somebody's coming!" exclaimed Claudina.

"Yes; Rupert. I know his step. Well, Ru, what is it?" as the boy rapped lightly on the door.

"Why before you answer that letter and accept the fellow, let me tell you something."

Mildred threw open the door.

"Who told you I had one?"

"The children told me about old Nick bringing you a letter," he answered laughing, but looking angry too, "and it's easy enough to guess the subject; particularly since I heard a bit of news over yonder at the smithy. Gote Lightcap says he heard him--old Nick--boasting this morning, before several young men, that he was going to marry Mildred Keith."

For a minute or more Mildred did not speak; she had probably never felt so angry in all her life.

"The conceited puppy!" she cried at last, "wouldn't I like to take some of it out of him!"

"Good for you!" cried Rupert clapping his hands. "I knew you'd be mad. And wouldn't I like to horsewhip him for his impudence?"

"But it isn't right," said Mildred, already cooling down a little and ashamed of her outburst. "You couldn't thrash him, Ru, but instead you shall, if you will, have the pleasure of carrying him my answer."

"Tell me what it is first."

Mildred took the letter and wrote, in pencil, beneath the signature, "The above offer is positively declined; all future visits on the part of the writer also," and signed her name. "There, return it," she said, "with the information that it is my final reply."

Chapter Sixteenth.

"Oh jealousy! thou bane of pleasing friendship,
Thou worst invader of our tender bosoms:
How does thy rancour poison all our softness,
And turn our gentle natures into bitterness!"
--ROWE.

THE news was too good to keep, and Rupert could not forbear stopping at the smithy on his return and giving Gotobed a hint of how matters stood.

To say that the certainty of a decided rejection of Ransquattle's suit lifted a burden of anxiety from young Lightcap's mind, is not an over-estimate of the relief the boy's communication afforded him.

He had been moody and depressed since his visit of the morning to Ransquattle's shop, and had refused to give Rhoda Jane any satisfaction as to his intentions in regard to making one of the sleighing party of the following evening. She was therefore agreeably surprised when toward bed-time he came, in quite a merry mood, into the kitchen where she sat sewing alone, their mother having stepped out to see a neighbor, to tell her that he had decided to go.

"Well, I'm glad of it," she said, "and who are you going to take?"

He colored at the question and answered almost doggedly, "I'm going after Sarah Miller."

"Why don't you ask Mildred Keith?"

"'Cause there ain't no use; Ormsby's headed me off there."

"Yes; an' if you don't look out, with yer pokin' ways, he'll head you off altogether, and marry her afore you know it."

"She ain't goin' off in such a hurry," he muttered, drumming on the table with his fingers; then jumping up from his chair and going over to the stove, making a pretense of warming himself that he might avoid the keen scrutiny of his sister's sharp eyes; "but what's the use o' me a tryin' with all them fellers round?"

"Gote Lightcap, I'm ashamed of you!" exclaimed Rhoda Jane. "If I was a man I'd have more pluck by a long shot. 'Twouldn't be me that would let any feller get ahead where I was amind to go in and win."

"You don't know nothin' about it," he retorted, lighting a candle and stalking off to bed.

"Dear me, if he only had half my spunk!" said Rhoda Jane, looking after him with scornful eyes and a curling lip.

The wish was echoed more than once in his heart as he lay awake far into the night revolving the subject in his mind, and filled with longings, doubts and fears.

He had been so greatly rejoiced over the downfall of Ransquattle's hopes; yet after all what did it avail him while the other three, whose superiority he could not help acknowledging to himself, remained in the way? Alas, there was no great cause for exultation that one rival out of four had been removed from his path.

Still was it quite certain that they were all rivals? might it not be that Miss Chetwood or Miss Grange was the more attractive girl to one or all of them? The six were so constantly seen together, the attentions of the three young men were so equally divided between the three girls, that who could tell how they were going to pair off, if at all?

Besides there was no accounting for tastes and a lady didn't always select that one from among her admirers whom other people in general considered the most desirable match. There was yet a spark of hope for him, but--ah if he only had Rhoda Jane's pluck and energy of determination!

Near sunset of the next day a large omnibus sleigh drawn by four horses with jingling bells, and well supplied with buffalo robes and other appliances for keeping the cold at bay, went from house to house in Pleasant Plains, picking up the girls and "boys" to the number of a dozen or more--a very merry company--then glided swiftly on over the snow for some six or eight miles.

The sleighing was fine, the weather not severe; the moon rose soon after the setting of the sun, and the girls being well muffled up in hoods, cloaks and other wraps, were warm and cosy, and vastly enjoyed the ride.

Of course the lads did the same. They laughed, jested and sang, and found time fly as swiftly as the horses; who seemed to make nothing of their load.

The destination of the party was a hotel in a neighboring village, where a supper had been ordered for them some days before. It was served up, hot and savory, shortly after their arrival.

A couple of hours were afterward spent in the parlor of the hotel, in social chat and playing games; and here they were joined by Mr. Timothy Buzzard, who taught a singing school in this town also.

"There's another rival," thought Gotobed, jealously watching him carrying on a lively conversation with Mildred; "'pears like every body's after her; and I can't get no chance at all."

Rhoda Jane was equally jealous--partly for her brother, but still more for herself; because last year Mr. Buzzard had waited upon her more than on any other girl in Pleasant Plains, and she considered him her property and "didn't fancy bein' cut out by no newcomer nor by anybody else, for that matter."

Influenced by the desire to separate the two, she was the first to suggest that it was time to start for home. She was agreeably surprised that Mildred promptly seconded the motion.

Some objected, saying there was no hurry, but as it was now eleven o'clock, these were overruled by the majority, and the sleigh was presently announced as in readiness.

"Can't we make room for another passenger?" some one asked, as amid laughter and jesting, they were crowding into the vehicle.

"Who is it?" queried another.

"Why, Buzzard would--"

"No, we hain't room for no more?" interrupted Gotobed. "We're not agoin' to have the ladies crowded."

"Speak fur yerself, Gote Lightcap," spoke up Rhoda Jane with spirit. "There ain't none of us so disobligin' as not to be willin' to scrouge a little for the sake of accommodatin' a fellow critter in distress. Set up a little closer, girls, and there'll be lots o' room."

"Yes; the more the merrier, and the closer the warmer," assented Sarah Miller, Gote Lightcap's partner for the expedition, who had noticed with vexation and chagrin his evident interest in Mildred Keith. "Come on, Buzzard," making room for the singing teacher between Rhoda Jane and herself.

"Thank you, ladies. I shall be a thorn between two roses," he said, taking the offered seat with a laugh at his own stale jest.

"Now we've got the singing master along, let's have some music," said Rhoda Jane, when they were fairly on their way.

"Yes, you'll be expected to pay your way Buzzard," remarked Ormsby.

"I hope I'll always be found willing to do that," he responded. "Miss Lightcap, what shall I sing?"

Highly pleased that the choice was given her, Rhoda Jane promptly named a love song she had heard him sing as a solo.

He gave it, then another, selected by Miss Miller, then turning to Mildred,

"I think it is your turn now, Miss Keith," he said.

She proposed a round he had taught them that winter, saying all could join in it.

All did so with right good will. Other rounds, glees, choruses and solos followed. They sang on even after reaching Pleasant Plains; sang on till but two or three were left as one after another was set down at his or her own door.

A light burned in the parlor at Mr. Keith's and the front door was opened before the sleigh had quite drawn up to it.

"Poor, dear mother! what a shame to have kept you up so long!" Mildred exclaimed as she came in.

"Never mind," was the cheerful reply. "Here's a good warm fire; take this arm-chair close to it, and don't remove any of your wraps till you cease to feel chilly. I should have prepared you some hot lemonade but for one little difficulty in the way; no lemons to be had. Coffee would keep you awake; but you shall have a glass of good rich milk; either hot or cold, as you prefer. Now tell me what sort of a time you had."

"I wish every girl had such a mother as mine," Mildred said, smiling fondly up into the face she loved so well. "I verily believe I take as much pleasure in recounting my adventures to you as in going through them. And it is so nice to have so safe and wise and loving a confidante.

"Mother, I have a great deal to tell you, not so much about what has occurred to-night as of something that happened last night. I have been looking for an opportunity all day, but without finding it; for you know we were unusually busy all the morning and had company all the afternoon till it was time for me to get ready for the sleigh-ride."

Mrs. Keith glanced at the face of a tall old-fashioned clock ticking in a corner of the room.

"I want very much to hear your story, daughter; but if you can sleep without having told it I think we will reserve it till to-morrow; for see! it is now half-past twelve."

The girl would have been glad to unburden her mind and to learn if her mother approved--not her rejection of Ransquattle--of that there could be no doubt--but her manner of doing it; but that dear mother's face cheerful though it was, told of physical exhaustion and need of sleep.

Mildred rose hastily. "High time then that we wore both in bed. My story will keep perfectly well till to-morrow."

"Sit down and finish warming yourself," Mrs. Keith said, with a smile. "I want to hear about to-night. We will keep the longer story for to-morrow."

The Lightcaps found their house all dark the family had retired to bed hours ago, but leaving the kitchen door unlocked and a good fire in the stove.

"Good and warm in here," remarked Gotobed, feeling for the candle and matches his mother was sure to have left on the table ready for them.

"Yes; feels comfortable. I shall set down and warm a bit 'fore I crawl up to that there cold bed-room."

"Me too; don't expect to sleep none when I do get to bed," growled Gote, as he succeeded in lighting the candle, after two or three ineffectual attempts, and set it on the table again.

"Kind o' eggzited are ye?"

"Some. I say, what did you make room for that--"

"Don't swear;" she sneered, as he paused for a suitable cognomen to bestow upon Buzzard.

"I wa'n't agoin' to!" he said angrily; "not but what I've sufficient cause in your letting that unclean bird in amongst us decent folks."

"There now; that'll do fur to-night," she snapped. "Tim. Buzzard ain't no more an unclean bird than you are; he's twicet as good lookin' and sings like a nightingale.

"But now see here; don't let's quarrel, but go to work together to bring things round right. You don't want him to cut you out with Mildred Keith, and I don't want her to cut me out with him. So now you just spunk up and pop the question right off. If you don't, one or other o' them fellers'll get ahead o' you; you may just take my word for that."

Gotobed dropped his head into his hands and sighed deeply, then rose and walked the floor.

Rhoda Jane watched him with an eager, half-contemptuous look.

"Well!" he said at length, "I wisht I knowed how!"

"Knowed how! you needn't make many words about it; 'tain't like makin' up a sermon or a president's message."

"It's a heap more important; the happiness of a feller's whole life a dependin' onto it."

Silence for some minutes, Rhoda Jane sitting meditatively before the stove, her feet on its hearth, her hands clasped round her knees, while her brother continued his restless walk.

She was the first to speak. "I'd write it out if I was you."

"I ain't used to writin' much."

"Well, you can get used to it; you can try and try till you've writ somethin' that'll do."

"I couldn't write anything good enough for her to see."

"Then take t'other way."

"I don't never git no chance; and if I did I'd be tongue-tied, sure as the world."

"Then you'll have to write it, and I'll help you!" concluded Rhoda Jane with energy.

She arose as she spoke, picked up the candle, stepped quickly to a corner shelf in the next room, whence she brought an inkstand and a quill pen.

Setting these down on the kitchen table, she went back, and opening a bureau drawer where miscellaneous articles were kept, fished out from its depths a sheet of foolscap, which she spread out beside the inkstand.

"That ain't nice enough," said Gotobed, eyeing it disapprovingly.

"Make it up on that and get better at the store to-morrow to copy it onto," returned his sister. "Now you set down and go at it like a man; or maybe I'd better say like a woman," she added sarcastically.

"If I'd only had an edication!" groaned Gotobed, taking up the pen; "but it's mighty hard on a feller--such things as this is--when he hasn't."

"Well, do the best you kin, and mebbe it'll come out right for all. You're good-lookin' and got a good trade and can make a good livin' for her. Just tell her that; and tell her you think she's as purty as a picter, and good-tempered, and knows a lot; and that you worship the ground she walks on, and won't never let the wind blow rough on her, won't never say no cross words to her, and--and a lot more o' such stuff; that's what girls like."

"Well, I s'pose you'd ought to know, seeing you belong to the sect; but it's a heap easier for you to say it than for me to git it writ down in black and white," he sighed.

"I declare I'm clear beat out with you a'most," said Rhoda Jane, snuffing the candle impatiently; "and I've a great mind to leave you to make it up by yourself."

But she went on coaxing, suggesting and prompting, till between them they had composed an epistle which was satisfactory to her though not to her brother.

"It's nigh onto three o'clock, and I'm awful tired and sleepy," she remarked, as at last they separated and sought their beds.

The next day Gotobed searched the town for letter paper and bought half a quire of the best he could find.

During the next week all his leisure moments were spent in making revised and improved copies of his and Rhoda Jane's joint composition.

He had used his last sheet, and seized with a fit of desperation, he selected the one which seemed to him the least faulty and sent it by his sister.

Mrs. Keith, opening the door in answer to Rhoda Jane's knock, was struck with the peculiar expression of the girl's face--a mixture of pride, condescension and exultation.

"Good evenin' Mis' Keith. Where's Mildred?" she said, stepping in and glancing about the room with an air of importance, "I want to see her pertickler; got somethin' fur her," and a conscious glance at the missive in her hand enlightened the quick-witted lady as to its nature.

"Mildred is not at home," she said; "will not be until bedtime; but anything you choose to leave with me will be given her on her return."

Rhoda Jane considered a moment. She felt a strong desire to deliver the note into Mildred's own hand, and to watch her while reading it; but should she carry it back Gote might change his mind and put off indefinitely this business which she was so desirous to have carried through at once.

She left it, though with evident reluctance.

She presently congratulated herself that she had done so. Gotobed, eagerly awaiting her return, peering anxiously every other minute through the smithy door, hailed her in breathless excitement.

"Well, what--what did she--"

"She wasn't there. She's gone out somewheres and won't be back till bedtime."

"Give it to me then; quick!" and he held out his hand with a peremptory gesture.

"I ain't got it," Rhoda Jane answered with a sardonic grin.

"Where is it? you ain't gone and left it," he cried aghast.

"Yes, I have; I give it to Mis' Keith."

Gotobed groaned. "I'd thought better of it; I'd throw it in the fire this minute if I had it here. She'll think me a fool. I know she will!"

"If she does she's one," returned Rhoda Jane shortly, and left him to his unavailing regrets.

How they tortured him! how could he bear the suspense.

Mildred was merciful and did not keep him in doubt any longer than necessary. He found a letter next morning, in the post-office, with his address upon it, written in a lady's delicate graceful hand.

His heart seemed to jump into his mouth at the sight. He almost snatched it from the postmaster's hand, and without stopping to answer the jesting remark of that functionary on his sudden accession of color, hurried away, never stopping till he reached the privacy of his own room, thankful that he succeeded in doing so without being seen by any of the family.

But now it was a full minute ere he could summon courage to open the missive and learn his fate. And even when it lay open before him he passed his hand several times across his eyes as if to clear his sight.

Yet it was very plainly written;--also plainly expressed; a distinct, decided, though very kindly rejection of his suit; the only reason given that she could not love him and a loveless marriage could be fruitful of nothing but misery to both parties.

Chapter Seventeenth.

"The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me."
--BAYLIE.

"GOTOBED LIGHTCAP, you're the biggest fool that ever was born!" exclaimed the young blacksmith, between his clenched teeth, throwing Mildred's dainty note upon the floor and grinding it with his heel, while the hot blood surged over his swarthy face, which expressed in every lineament intense mortification and chagrin. "You might 'a knowed the likes o' her couldn't never fancy sech a ungainly, know nothin' varmint as you be."

He dropped his face into his hands for a moment, groaning in spirit--for the wound in his heart was deep as well as that to his pride.

"It does seem as if there warn't nothin' left in this world worth livin' fur!" he sighed. "But then I'm not the feller to give up and die! I'll fight it out an' get over it yet."

He picked up the letter and thrust it into his bosom, straightened himself, went down into the smithy, and fell to work at his anvil, dealing vigorous blows as if thus he would drive away the demon of despair.

He ate little at dinner, and conscious that Rhoda Jane's sharp eyes were upon him, scarcely lifted his from his plate.

He hurried back to his work. She followed him the next minute.

"So she's give you the mitten?"

"Who told you so?" he asked defiantly, standing before her with arms folded and head erect, but reddening to his very hair.

"Humph! I ain't blind, and anybody could see it with half an eye. Well, never you mind! you're a sight too good fur her, the--"

"Don't you call her no names now! I ain't agoin' to have it. It's me that isn't fit to hold a candle to the like o' her, and had ought to had sense enough to know it.

"Well, I didn't boast like Ransquattle; that's one small bit o' comfort as things has turned out," he concluded moodily, picking up his hammer.

"How'd he take his mitten?" laughed Rhoda Jane. "Wouldn't I ha' liked to seen him puttin' it on!"

"Take it! you never see anybody look so cheap as Nick when Mocker asked him 'tother day when the weddin' was to come off. Then the fellers run him ('twas at Chetwood and Mocker's store; I'd run in on a arrant fur mother) and he growed thunderin' mad, and begun callin' her names till Ormsby was ready to put him out--if he hadn't walked off hisself--and I could 'a horse-whipped him with a right good will."

"Well, don't you go and break your heart fur her."

"I ain't a goin' to. There now, you'd better leave; fur I've a job on hand."

The building lot selected by the Keiths was bought and fenced in almost immediately, and men set to work at digging the cellar, and then putting up the walls of the new house.

By dint of energetic oversight and urging on of the workmen, Mr. Keith succeeded in having it roofed in before the first heavy fall of snow; so that some advance could be made with the laying of floors, lathing, etc., during the winter.

When spring came things took a fresh start; more men were employed and every effort put forth by the owner, to have the building hurried on to completion.

Each member of the family was deeply interested; the children made daily journeys to the spot and all Rupert's leisure time was devoted to digging, planting and other improvements of the grounds.

The boy was full of energy and fond of life in the open air. His garden did him credit, supplying nearly all the vegetables wanted for family use.

With some assistance from older heads and hands, he terraced the bank overlooking the river, made steps down to the water's edge, where was a fine spring, and built a small arbor and a spring-house.

The new dwelling would be hardly so large as the one they were to leave for it, until an addition should be built, but of more sightly appearance and far more conveniently arranged. Besides it was their own, and who does not know the charm that ownership gives?

They were very impatient to get into it; and there was great rejoicing among the children when at last the announcement was made that it was fit for occupancy.

It was their father who brought the news into their reading and sewing circle, one bright warm afternoon early in July.

"When shall we move, wife?" he asked.

"Oh to-night, to-night! please, mother say to-night," cried several little voices.

Mrs. Keith laughed. "It is no such quick work, children."

"But we might bedin," said Don. "I'll take dis tat and tum back aden for other tings," hugging up a large white and yellow cat that had been a petted member of the household for some months past.

"H'm!" said Cyril, "Toy can take his own self; he's got more feet to run with than any of the rest."

"And he always runs alongside wherever we goes," put in Fan. "Mother can we help move?"

The question was unheard and remained unanswered; for the reason that the older people were talking busily among themselves.

"I think we may begin to-morrow," Mrs. Keith was saying; "Celestia Ann is through with her week's washing and ironing, and I'll set her and Mrs. Rood both to cleaning the new house, while we pack up things here."

"Oh, goodie, goodie! mother, mayn't we all help!" chorused the children.

"We will see, dears; perhaps there may be some little things that you can carry; your own toys you shall carry at any-rate, if you wish. Yes, Stuart, I have had the parlor and one bedroom of the new house cleaned already."

"O mother, can't we have this carpet taken up immediately--I mean go to work and take it up--and have it shaken and carried right over there? and perhaps we could get it down this afternoon, you and auntie and I; and have the furniture of that room carried right into it to-morrow morning, the first thing."

"A capital idea," her father said; "then we will have one room comfortable there before all are torn up here. Come, children, scamper out of the way! Wife; where's the tack hammer?"

"Oh, can't we help?" pleaded the children, "Where shall we go?"

"No, not with this. Go anywhere out of the way."

The order was obeyed somewhat reluctantly, all going out to the adjoining room. Zillah and Ada stopped there and each took a book; the younger three went up stairs.

"Let's pack up our things," said Cyril.

"What'll we pack 'em in?" queried Don.

"We'll see."

The boys got out their stores of marbles, balls, bits of twine, a broken knife or two, a few fish hooks and a set of Jackstraws their father had made for them.

Fan brought out her treasures also, which consisted of several dolls and their wardrobes, a picture book and some badly battered and bruised dishes; the remains of a once highly prized metal toy tea set.

A packing box in one corner of the large second story room was where the playthings of the little ones were always kept when not in use. "A place for everything and everything in its place," being one of the cardinal rules of the household.

"Can we take 'em over there now?" asked Fan, as she gathered hers pell mell into her apron.

"No, of course not," said Cyril. "Didn't you hear mother say we couldn't begin moving till to-morrow?"

"Then what did we get 'em out for?"

"To pack 'em up and have 'em ready to take over in the morning."

"What'll we pack 'em in?" reiterated Don.

"Let's look round for a box 'bout the right size," said Cyril. "Course we can't carry them in the big board one. It's too heavy."

A good deal of rummaging followed upon that; first in the outer room, then in the other, occupied by Aunt Wealthy and Mildred.

Finally they came upon a pasteboard box standing on Mildred's writing table, which Cyril pronounced just the thing.

"But maybe Milly won't like us to take it," objected Fan, as he unceremoniously emptied the contents upon the table.

"Oh, she won't care; there's nothing in it but old papers and things writed all over. She's done with them and she'll be puttin' them in the fire next thing. You know she always likes to burn up old rubbish."

That last statement was certainly according to fact, and Fan made no further objection.

Don suggested asking leave, but Cyril overruled that also.

"No; they're all too busy down there; we mustn't bother," he said, walking off with his prize.

One paper had fallen on the floor. Fan stooped, picked it up and looked at it curiously, as the boys hurried off into the other room with their prize.

"Milly didn't do that," she remarked; "tain't pretty writin' like hers. Guess she wouldn't want to keep such an ugly old thing."

"Come Fan," Cyril called, "do you want to put your things in too?"

"Yes;" she said, coming out with the letter still in her hand.

Fan's dolls were put in last and the box was too full to allow the lid to go on.

"I'll take Bertha and carry her in my arms," she said, lifting out her largest and favorite child. "I want her to play wis now and I'd raser not trust her in dere wis dose marbles and balls rollin' round."

"Now the lid fits on all right," said Cyril, adjusting it.

"We're all packed up," observed Don, with satisfaction. "Now let's go play in the grove."

The others were agreed and Fan decided that she must take with her two small rag dolls in addition to Bertha.

Puss had come up stairs with the children and was walking round and round them, as they sat on the carpet, rubbing affectionately against them and purring loudly.

"Let's give 'em a ride on Toy's back," said Cyril. "Here's a string to tie 'em on with, and this old letter shall be the saddle," picking up the one Fan had brought from the other room, and which she had laid down beside the box.

The others were pleased with the idea; Cyril twisted the letter into some slight resemblance to a saddle, and in spite of a vigorous resistance from the cat, tied it and the dolls pretty securely to her back.

She was of course expected to go with or follow them as usual; but the instant they released her she flew down the stairs, darted out of the open kitchen door, tore across the yard and scaled the fence in a twinkling.

The children pursued at their utmost speed, but Toy was out of sight before they could descend the stairs.

"Well, I never! that 'ar cat must a gone mad," Celestia Ann was saying, standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her gaze turned wonderingly in the direction Toy had taken.

"Where? which way did she go?" asked the children breathlessly.

"Over the fence yonder, tearing like mad. She went like a streak o' lightnin' through the kitching here, and I didn't see no more of her after she clum the fence. She's got the hydrophoby bad, you may depend; and I only hope she won't bite nobody, 'fore somebody knocks her in the head."

"No, it's my dolls she's got," said Fan, who had not the slightest idea what "hydrophoby" might be. "O, boys, hurry and catch her 'fore she loses 'em," she called after her brothers as they renewed the pursuit, hurrying across the yard and climbing the fence with a speed that did credit to their ability in that line.

Fan stood beside it, gazing out anxiously through a crack between the high, rough boards till the boys returned all breathless with running, to report, "No Toy and no dolls to be seen anywhere."

"But don't cry," added Cyril, seeing Fan's lips tremble ominously; "she'll come back when she wants her supper; you bet."

"It's wicked to bet," remarked Don virtuously.

"I didn't," said Cyril, "come let's go play in the grove. I'll bend down a tree and give you a nice ride, Fan."

Gotobed Lightcap had just finished a job, and pausing a moment to rest, was wiping the perspiration from his brow with a rather dilapidated specimen of pocket-handkerchief, when a cat darted in at the open door, ran round the smithy in a frightened way, then lay down on the floor and rolled and squirmed kicking its feet in the air in the evident effort to rid itself of something tied to its back.

With a single stride Gotobed was at the side of the struggling animal.

He took it up and in a few seconds had relieved it of its hated incumbrance.

"It's them Keith children's pet cat," he said half aloud, "and they've been a tyin' some of their doll babies onto it. There you kin go, puss; don't take up yer lodgin' here; for we've cats enough o' our own.

"Eh! what's this?" as his eye fell on the letter and he recognized his own awkward, ill-shaped hieroglyphics.

He felt his face grow very red and hot as he straightened it out upon his knees, his heart fluttering with the thought of the possibility that it might have been some little liking for the writer that had prevented its immediate destruction.

There were some words in pencil along the margin; he held it up to the light and slowly deciphered them.

He was not much accustomed to reading writing and this had become slightly blurred: but he made it out clearly at last; a jesting remark about his mistakes in spelling and grammar, which were many and glaring.

"I wouldn't ha' believed it of her!" he exclaimed, crimsoning with anger and shame as he flung the torn and crumpled sheet into the fire of his forge, the dolls after it.

He caught up his hammer and fell to work again, muttering to himself, "It's her writin'; there can't be no mistake; fur it's just like what she writ me afore. And I wouldn't a' believed it of her, I wouldn't; I thought she'd a kind heart and would make allowance fur them that hasn't had the same chance as her."

He had not been wrong in his estimate of Mildred. She would never have wounded his feelings intentionally. She had a habit of writing her thoughts on the margin of what she was reading, and the words had been carelessly traced there with no expectation that they would ever be seen by any eye but her own. Nor would they but for the mischievous meddling of the children.

She set no value upon the letter; did not miss it till months afterwards, and then supposed she had destroyed it, though she could not distinctly remember having done so.

In the meantime Gotobed kept his own counsel, concealing his hurt as well as he could and trying not to hate the hand that had inflicted it.

Chapter Eighteenth.

"Farewell, a long farewell."

THE Keiths were scarcely more than well settled in their new home when Miss Stanhope announced her intention of returning to Ohio almost immediately.

This news was received by the family with something akin to consternation. "How could they do without her?" they asked; "didn't everybody need her every day of their lives, from father and mother down to Annis?"

"Ah," she answered smiling, though her eyes were dim with unshed tears, "you'll have each other and will soon find that you can get on very well indeed without your blundering old auntie. But the question is how shall she do without you? The old Lansdale home will be very lonely with no little feet pit-patting about it."

"Then what makes you go, Aunt Wealthy?" chorused the children, clinging to her with many a loving caress.

"I must, my darlings; there's business I have to attend to; and I feel that the ague is breaking me down."

"I fear that is too true," Mrs. Keith said, with a strong effort to speak cheerfully, "and therefore I will not entreat you to stay, dear auntie; but rather urge your departure before the sickly season sets in.

"Though it just breaks my heart to think of the parting!" she added, hurrying from the room to conceal her emotion.

"But you'll come back soon, won't you, auntie?" pleaded the children.

"Not very, I'm afraid, dears, it's a long and expensive journey."

"Too long for you to take alone, Aunt Wealthy," Mildred said. "I dread it for you. I don't see how we can let you go without a protector."

"I shall not, child. Is not the promise to me, 'Behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest?' Yes; to me and to each one of His children. So I am not afraid, and you need not fear for me."

"Dear auntie, if the Saviour were here, I think he would say to you, 'O woman, great is thy faith!'"

"My dear, I deserve no such commendation; my faith is often very weak. But I want you to remember and try to realize that this almighty Friend not only goes with me when I leave you, but stays with you also; according to His gracious promise, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'

"Troubles and trials will come and there are dark and stormy days in every life--but 'as thy days so shall thy strength be.'

"I can not tell you, Mildred, how hard it is for me to leave you all," she continued, her voice trembling with emotion, "but it would be ten times harder were it not that I know 'this God is our God forever and ever;' and that 'he will be our guide even unto death.'"

"Aunt Wealthy," said Mrs. Keith coming in again, "Stuart and I have been talking this over--this resolve of yours to return to Ohio--and he says it will never do for you to attempt it without an escort."

"I shall be very glad of an escort, if there is one to be had," Miss Stanhope answered; "but if not, I must even go without--trusting in Providence."

"But you would wait a few weeks rather than go alone?"

"Certainly; God works by means, and we are to use them, while at the same time we trust only in him."

"Stuart says the merchants will be going on East to buy their fall goods. He will inquire among them and let you know."

"Ah yes; I think I heard Mr---- what's his name? Mimicker? Sneerer?"

"Mocker?" suggested Mildred with a smile.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Mocker, I heard him say something about it being his turn this fall to lay in a new supply of goods."

"Ah, I hope it will turn out that you will have him for your escort, Aunt Wealthy," said Mildred, "for I know that he will take the best possible care of you. But do try, auntie, to get his name fixed in your memory."

"That I will," Miss Stanhope answered with a good humored smile; "for he might not fancy the synonyms of it; the meaning not being the most complimentary in the world."

Mr. Keith brought home word that Mr. Mocker would leave for the East in a fortnight and would be happy to take charge of Miss Stanhope.

Aunt Wealthy had always been very dear to these nieces and nephews, but now that they were about to lose her, it seemed to them that they had never realized half her worth.

They lingered near her, they hung upon her words and looks, and when the time for parting came, clung about her with sobs and tears, loading her with caresses, till she was forced to tear herself from their embraces and hurry away.

The stage had drawn up before the gate; she hastened down the garden path, the weeping children running after; Mr. Keith and Mr. Mocker assisted her into the vehicle, the latter took his place by her side, and in another moment she was whirled away out of sight, all drowned in tears, and leaving the others in like condition.

"It seems just like a funeral!" sobbed Ada, "oh, will she never, never come back any more!"

"Perhaps she may, dear," said the mother, wiping away her own tears, "we will try to think so at least, and be cheerful and happy in looking forward to that time. And in the meanwhile we may hope for a letter now and then."

"Oh," cried Rupert, "that reminds me that there's a letter in the office for you now, mother! I saw it there, but had no money with me to pay the postage. If you'll give me the two shillings, I'll run and get it now."

"Do so, my son," Mrs. Keith said, giving him the money. "I'm sorry you forgot it and did not get it out in time for Aunt Wealthy to see it."

Letters were rarities in those days, and the older members of the family awaited Rupert's return from the post-office with a good deal of eagerness, not unmixed with anxiety.

He was not long gone for he too was curious in regard to it, desirous to learn its contents and who was the writer.

"It's post marked Detroit," he said, delivering it to his mother. "I can't think who'd be likely to write to any of us from there.

"Unless it might be Captain or Edward Wells," he added with a quizzical glance at Mildred.

"The hand looks familiar," remarked Mrs. Keith carefully breaking the seal; then opening out the sheet, "Horace Dinsmore!" she exclaimed, "And he is coming to see us! Oh, what a pity that Aunt Wealthy has just missed him!"

"A pity indeed!" echoed her husband. "But he may stay with us some weeks, and perhaps take Lansdale on his way home."

"I hope he won't; won't stay here long, I mean," muttered Rupert in an aside to Mildred. "I didn't like him the other time."

"Nor I, very much, but perhaps he has improved."

"Mother, who is he?" the younger ones were asking.

"My cousin; his mother and mine were sisters."

"Were? Aren't they now?" queried Zillah.

"Yes, dear, but they both went home to heaven many years ago. My mother first--before Aunt Eva married Mr. Dinsmore and went away down south to live.

"But wait till I have read the letter and then you may ask all the questions you wish."

It was not a lengthy epistle. Mrs. Keith glanced over it, then read it aloud. Its tone was cousinly and affectionate.

The writer stated that he had lately graduated from college and was now taking a tour to rest and refresh himself after many months of hard study; that he had arrived in Detroit, would tarry there a week and then journey on into Indiana to visit his relatives in Pleasant Plains.

"This letter has been some time on the way," Mrs. Keith remarked, examining the date, "and really I think he may walk in upon us day after to-morrow."

"Then we'd better be getting ready for him!" exclaimed Mildred, starting up in her energetic way.

"Wait a little. Mother promised to tell us about him," cried the children.

"Yes, and will. There's time enough, Milly."

Mildred resumed her seat; for she, too, wanted to hear all her mother had to tell.

"My mother," Mrs. Keith began, "was two years younger than Aunt Wealthy, who was the daughter of my grandfather by his first wife; therefore only half sister to my mother and Aunt Eva, who were the children of the second.

"Aunt Eva was five years younger than my mother and was still single when mother died; which, as you have all heard, was when I, her only child, was but little more than two years old.

"Cousin Horace, too, was the only child of his mother, and quite a little fellow when she died. I was there, on a visit, at the time and did what I could to comfort him.

"We grew quite fond of each other then and have always been so ever since, though we have lived far apart and met very seldom."

"Has he got a father?" asked Cyril, "and does he live with him?"

"Yes; he has a father, and lives with him when he is at home; but for years past most of his time has been spent at school and college."

"I thought Cousin Horace had brothers and sisters?" Rupert said, inquiringly.

"Yes; his father soon married again and has a large family by the second wife."

"What is Cousin Horace like, mother?" asked Ada.

"Wait until he comes and see for yourself," was the smiling rejoinder.

"How glad you look, mother!" said Mildred, "are you really so much pleased that he is coming?"

"Why, certainly, my child! he is my near kinsman, and, as I have just told you, I am very fond of him; he's like a dear younger brother to me. And particularly welcome just now as his coming will take from the dreadfully lonely feeling Aunt Wealthy's departure has given the house."

"But, mother, we can't entertain him suitably, we're so cramped for room and our house only half-furnished; and he is used to living in such grand style. You know you have often told me about it--what a beautiful place Roselands is, and how many carriages and horses, and what a retinue of servants they keep."

Mrs. Keith smiled kindly at the anxious face turned toward hers. "Well, daughter dear, we'll just do the best we can for him and it won't hurt him to try roughing it in the backwoods--or prairies rather--for a little while."

"Well, it's a little better than if he had come while we were in the old yellow house. We've a nice porch here, and a front yard shaded with grand old oaks; and no neighbors near enough to watch every movement."

"A good many conveniences, too," added her mother, cheerily, "and a beautiful view of river and town. I think, too, that we can manage to give him a room to himself, and to feed him well, with the help of Rupert's garden, the cow and the chickens."

The expectation of this visit was a real blessing to the family; to Mrs. Keith and Mildred in especial--just at this time; giving occupation to their thoughts as well as hands, in the necessary preparation for the proper accommodation and entertainment of the coming guest; thus preventing much of the sadness the loss of Miss Stanhope's loved society would have caused them.

The next arrival of the semi-weekly stage brought Horace Dinsmore, his servant and luggage to their door.

Mr. Dinsmore was a dark-eyed, handsome youth of distinguished appearance and with the air of a prince of the blood royal; yet evidently a kind master; for his man John, a spruce young negro, seemed to take the greatest pride and pleasure in waiting upon "Massa Horace" and anticipating his every wish.

While warmly welcoming her young relative, Mrs. Keith was somewhat dismayed at the unexpected sight of the servant--house room being so scarce; but the difficulty was obviated by placing a cot-bed in the empty loft of the newly erected stable at the foot of the garden.

"How very thoughtless and selfish in Cousin Horace to bring that fellow along," Mildred said to her mother.

"No, my dear, not when we consider that they have always been together and neither would know very well how to do without the other. I was the thoughtless one not to remember that and expect John."

"Always together, mother?"

"Yes; they are nearly the same age--John a few months older than his young master--and were playfellows in infancy.

"John's mother was Horace's 'mammy' as the children down south call their nurses; and I think loved her white nursling even better than her own children.

"John's affection for Horace is probably as great, and it would come near breaking his heart to be separated from him."

Horace Dinsmore had paid a visit to Lansdale the year before the removal of the Keiths to Indiana. The impression he had then made upon his young cousins was not at all favorable; he was silent, morose and seemed to take little or no interest in anybody or anything.

"He is not like himself," Mrs. Keith had said to Aunt Wealthy again and again; "he is in trouble, some great sorrow has come to him."

But they did not succeed in winning his confidence; he rejected their sympathy, locked up his secret in his own bosom, and left them as sad and moody as when he came.