"Well, I'm both glad and sorry Horace is gone," Mrs. Keith remarked with a smile, a sigh and a dewy look about her eyes, as the stage passed out of sight. "I'm fond of the lad, but was troubled lest the ague should get hold of him. Besides, the dearest of guests is something of a burden with sickness in the house and a scarcity of help."

"Yes, that is very true, mother," Mildred answered, "and so thoroughly do I realize it that I am wholly and heartily glad he's gone; albeit I liked him much better this time than I did before."

Celestia Ann had left months ago, and they had had very indifferent help during Mr. Dinsmore's visit, though fortunately such as they could keep away from the table when their guest was present at it.

Mildred went on now to express her satisfaction that such had been the case, adding, "What would he have done if Miss Hunsinger had been here, and in her usual fashion asserted her right to show that she felt herself as good as he or anybody else?"

"He'd have annihilated her with a look," laughed Rupert.

"He would have acted like the perfect gentleman he is," said Mrs. Keith, "but it would have been exceedingly mortifying to me to have him so insulted at my table; for as he has been brought up, he could not avoid feeling it an insult to be put on a social equality with one so rude and vulgar."

"The house feels lonely," said Zillah, "it seems 'most as if Aunt Wealthy had just gone away."

"We'll get our sewing and a book," said her mother, "Come all into the sitting-room. Rupert may be the reader this time.

"Mildred, you and I will have to be very busy now with the fall sewing."

"Yes mother dear; it's a blessing to have plenty of employment. But do you think I shall need to give up my studies for a time?"

"No, daughter, I hope not. I want you to go on with them; Mr. Lord says you are doing so nicely. Your cousin, too, told me he thought you were getting a better—more thorough—education with him, than you would be likely to in any school for girls that he knows of."

Mildred's eyes sparkled, and cousin Horace took a warmer place in her affections than he had held before. It was well, for it needed all that to keep her from disliking him for his indifference toward his motherless little one, when, a few days later, she heard his story from her mother's lips.

They had a very busy fall and winter, missing sorely Miss Stanhope's loved companionship and her help in the family sewing, the putting up of fruit—the pickling and preserving, indeed in every department of household work; and in nothing more than in the care of the sick.

Letters came from her at rare intervals—for mails were infrequent in those days and postage was very high—were read and re-read, then put carefully by to be enjoyed again when time and opportunity could be found for another perusal. They were not the brief statements of facts that letters of the present day generally are, but long chatty epistles, giving in pleasing detail, her own doings and those of old friends and acquaintances, and all that had happened in Lansdale since they left; telling of her pets, of the books she read and what she thought of them.

Then there were kind inquiries, conjectures as to what they were doing and thinking; answers to their questions, and words of counsel and of tender sympathy in their joys and sorrows.

Many a laugh did they give their readers, and many a tear was dropped upon their pages. They so loved the dear old lady and could almost hear the sweet tones of her voice as they read or repeated to each other, her quaint sayings.

Fall and winter passed, bringing with them no marked changes in the family, but very much the same round of work, study and diversion as in the former year.

The children grew, mentally and physically, now mother, and now sister Mildred, "teaching the young ideas how to shoot;" for they could not endure the thought of resigning the precious darlings to the tender mercies of Damaris Drybread, whose school was still the only one in town.

The old intimacy was kept up in just the old way among the coterie of six, and the gossips vainly puzzled their brains with the question which girl was the admired and admirer of which young man.

Mildred was happily freed from the visits of Ransquattle—of which Lu Grange had become the impatient and disgusted recipient—and saw little of Gotobed Lightcap, who, upon one excuse, or another, absented himself from most of the merry-makings of the young people.

Indeed there had been scarcely any intercourse between the two families since the removal of the Keiths from the immediate neighborhood of the Lightcaps; for there was no similarity of taste, no common bond of interest to draw them together; nothing in truth, save a kind and friendly feeling toward each other; and as regarded Rhoda Jane, even this was lacking.

She had never yet forgiven Mildred's rejection of her brother and almost hated her for it, though she knew naught of her added offense in the matter of the criticism on his letter. That was a secret which Gotobed kept faithfully locked in his own breast.

The spring opened early for that climate; with warm rains that brought vegetation forward rapidly.

The Keith children revelled in out door work and play; each of the younger ones had a little garden to dig and plant as he or she pleased, and a pet hen or two in the chicken yard, and there was much good-natured rivalry as to who should have the earliest vegetables, the greatest variety of flowers, the largest broods of young chicks, or the most newly laid eggs to present to father and mother, or the invalid of the hour; for the old enemy—ague—still visited them occasionally; now one, now another, or it might be several at once, succumbing to its attacks.

However, the lion's share of both gardening and poultry-raising fell to Rupert; who busied himself out of study hours, with these and many little odd jobs of repairing and adorning—such as mending fences, putting up trellises, training vines and trimming shrubbery and trees.

The mother and Mildred found so much to do within doors, that some oversight and direction of these younger workers, and the partial care of a few flower-beds near the house, were all they could undertake outside.

They had been without a domestic for some weeks, had passed through the trying ordeal of the regular spring house-cleaning with only Mrs. Rood's assistance, when one pleasant May morning, while dishing up breakfast, their hearts were gladdened by the sight of the sinewy form and energetic countenance of Celestia Ann Hunsinger as she stepped in at the kitchen door with a characteristic salutation.

"How d'ye, Mis' Keith? You don't want no help round here, do ye?"

"We want just the sort of help we'll be sure of if you'll take off your bonnet and stay," Mrs. Keith answered, giving her a hearty grip of the hand.

"Then that's what I'll do and no mistake," returned the girl, setting down a bundle on a chair, with the remark, "You see I've brought some o' my duds along," pulling off her sunbonnet and hanging it on a nail. "Here, Miss Mildred, let me smash them 'taters."

"So Mis' Keith, you've been buildin' since I was here last."

"Yes; a new kitchen; so we could take the old for a dining-room and be less crowded."

"It's awful nice; I always did like a good big kitching;—room to turn round and keep things straight."

"It's going to be nicer still, Celestia Ann," said Rupert who had just come in from his work in the garden, and was washing his hands preparatory to taking a seat at the table, "it wants a coat of paint on the outside and I'm going to put it on myself, to-day."

"Well, I never!" she ejaculated, "do ye think you're up to that?"

"Of course I do; and so, I suppose, do father and mother; or they wouldn't have consented to let me try."

"Well, there's nothin' like tryin'; as I've found out in my own experience," returned Miss Hunsinger, using her potato masher vigorously, "and I allers enjoy meetin' with folks that's willin' fur it. But do you know, Mis' Keith, 'pears to me like 'I can't' comes the easiest to most human critters' tongues of any two words in the American language; and with more'n half on 'em they're lyin' words; yes, there's more lies told in them two words than in any other ten. So there!" as she laid down her masher to stir in the milk, butter and salt.

"I'm afraid there is only too much truth in your remark," said Mrs. Keith, "but certainly no one can accuse you of a fondness for that favorite phrase of the indolent and ease-loving."

"Thank you, Mis' Keith. I've lots of faults and failin's as well's the rest o' the human family, but I'm certain sure there ain't no lazy bone in my body.

"Here these taters is ready to set on the table, and I see you've got your steak and biscuits dished up. But I hain't inquired after the fam'ly. Anybody got the agur?"

"No, I believe we are all well this morning thanks to a kind Providence. Rupert, call your father and the rest to breakfast."

No frowns greeted Celestia Ann as she, with her accustomed nonchalance, took her place with the others. Everybody was glad to see her, because her arrival meant comparative rest for mother and Mildred, and more time to be devoted by them to the loving care and entertainment of father and the younger children.

After breakfast, family worship. Then Mr. Keith went to his office and the others scattered to their work or play. Sunbonnets and hats were in request among the little ones; for mother had given permission to go out if they would be careful to keep on the gravel walks till the dew was off the grass.

Sister Mildred gave kind assistance, and away they ran, while she and Zillah and Ada, old enough now to begin to be useful about the house, made beds, dusted and set things to rights in sleeping and dwelling rooms, and Rupert donned a suit of overalls and went to his chosen task.

Celestia Ann needed but little direction or oversight, and in half an hour Mrs. Keith repaired to the sitting-room.

What a pleasant place it seemed as she came in!—fresh and bright from its recent cleaning, neat as a new pin, the open windows looking out upon the grassy side yard, with its shrubbery and trees clothed in vivid green, and giving a charming view of the clear waters of the swiftly flowing river sparkling in the sunlight.

"Isn't it a lovely morning, mother?" cried Mildred, whose graceful figure was flitting about here and there, putting a few finishing touches to the adornments of the room. "I think the sunshine was never brighter, the air never sweeter. It is a luxury just to live! Hark to that robin's song and the sweet prattling of the little voices you and I love so well! And I feel as blithe and gay as a bird."

"Yes, dear child," said the mother, happy tears springing to her eyes, "Oh, how great is His goodness to us unworthy creatures! so much of mercy and blessing here and the certainty of endless joy and bliss beyond! Life has its dark and dreary days, but after all there is more of brightness, to those who look for it, than of gloom."

"I believe that is true, mother," responded Mildred, "though when the dark and dreary days are upon us, it is sometimes very difficult to hold fast to one's faith.

"I do love this time of year," she added, leaning from the window to watch the ferryboat slowly crossing,

"Come, let us go out; I think we may spare an hour to the garden this morning," Mrs. Keith said gayly, leading the way. "What a blessing, among others, it is to have a good reliable girl in the kitchen!"

"Yes," laughed Mildred, "I could almost have hugged Celestia Ann; I was so glad to see her. What do you suppose brought her just at this time, mother?"

"Need of money for summer finery, I presume. See, our morning glories are coming up nicely."

"Mother, mother, and Milly," cried Fan running to them in an ecstasy of delight, "my speckled hen has thirteen little chicks, the prettiest bits of fuzzy things you ever saw. Do come and look!"

She turned and sped back again toward the chicken yard, mother and sister following.

The other three little ones were there watching "Speckle" and her brood with intense interest.

"See! see! mamma, Milly! see! see!" cried Baby Annis in a flutter of delight, holding her little skirts close to her chubby legs, as the "bits of fuzzy things" ran hither and thither about her feet, "pitty 'ittle chickies, dust tum out of eggs."

"Yes, dears, they are very pretty," Mrs. Keith said; "but they are very tender little things; so be careful not to hurt them. No, Cyril, don't pick them up, and be sure you don't step on them. You may go to the house for some bread crumbs, Fan, and you and Annis may feed them."

This permission gave great pleasure, and Fan's small feet went skipping and dancing through the garden in the direction of the kitchen door.

Then mother must look at Annis's hen sitting on her nest, and notice how the older broods, belonging to Cyril and Don, were growing in size and strength; Zillah's and Ada's also; and hear how many eggs the other nests had furnished this morning.

After that the gardens were submitted to her inspection, Mildred still bearing her company, both making suggestions and giving assistance.

And so a full hour had slipped by before they returned to the house, and Rupert, they found, had made great progress with his work.

"I've painted the whole end, mother; do you see?" he called to her; "and now I'm beginning this side. I think I'll have the whole job done to-day."

"You have been very industrious," she said, "but don't make haste so fast that it will not be done well."

"Oh, no, ma'am, I don't intend to."

He was at the top of his ladder and near the roof of the new one-story addition to their house.

"Take care, my son," said Mrs. Keith; "it seems to me your ladder doesn't stand very securely. Is there no danger of its slipping?"

"Never a bit, mother," laughed the boy "why what should make it slip?"

She and Mildred turned and walked on toward the front of the house, had just set foot upon the porch there, when a shout from Rupert startled them and made them pause and look back at him.

They saw the ladder slip, slip then slide rapidly to the ground, while with a cry of alarm they rushed toward him.

But they were much too far off to reach him in time to be of the least assistance. Down he came to the ground, falling with considerable impetus and alighting upon his feet, his brush in one hand, his paint pot in the other, striking with a force that sent the paint all over his person.

He reeled and dropped.

"Are you hurt? oh, my boy, are you much hurt?" asked his mother tremulously, as she hurried to him, looking very pale and frightened.

"My clothes have got the worst of it, I believe, mother," he said, laughing and staggering to his feet. "I'm afraid they've robbed the house of half its new coat."

The others came running from chicken-yard and garden; Celestia Ann poked her head out of the kitchen window, and a peal of laughter met him from all sides.

"I dare say I cut quite a comical figure," he said, taking it in good part, "but since I've broken no bones, I wouldn't care a red cent, if it wasn't for the loss of the paint and the damage to my illegant attire.

"'O what a fall was there, my countrymen.'"

"Since you are unhurt, no matter for the clothes; even if they were an elegant suit," said his mother, with a sigh of relief.

"But half the paint's gone, mother—or at least put upon my person where it's worse than useless," cried the lad, surveying himself with an expression so comically lugubrious that there was a fresh explosion of mirth.

"Never mind; it will not cost a great deal to replace it," said Mrs. Keith. "But I think the job may wait now till we can get a regular house-painter to finish it up."

"What! would you have me give up so easily, mother, and own myself beaten? I don't like to do it. Please let me try again, and I'll place the ladder more carefully."

"I don't know; we'll ask your father first. There's no special haste and—how would you all like to go with me for a walk? a nice long stroll down to the bridge, and over the river, to look for wild flowers."

The proposal was greeted with loud acclamations and clapping of hands. "Oh, delightful!" "Oh goodie! goodie!" "May we mother?"

"Yes; we've all been working hard this long time, and I think really deserve a holiday. Rupert, make yourself decent and we'll set out at once, taking a lunch with us, so that we need not hurry home."

"Tan I do, mamma? tan Annis do?" asked the baby girl eagerly, the rosy face all aglow with delight.

"Yes, indeed, mother's darling; you shall go in your little coach; because your dear little feet couldn't travel fast enough to keep up with the rest, and would get so tired."

"Do we need to be dressed up, mother?" asked Fan, "me and Don and all the children?"

"No, dear; we don't go through town and are dressed quite enough for the woods."

They were soon on the way, strolling leisurely along, drinking in with keen enjoyment the sweet sights and sounds.

The sky over their heads was of a dark celestial blue with here and there a floating cloud of snowy whiteness, whose shadow flitted over the landscape, giving to it a charming variety of light and shade.

Their road lay along the bank of the river and its soft murmur mingled with the hum of insects and the song of birds. The grass beneath their feet was emerald green thickly studded with wild flowers of every hue, and the groves of saplings through which they passed were fast donning their summer robes.

The bridge was a rough wooden structure half a mile below the town; quite out of danger of crowding the houses of the citizens or doing much injury to the custom of the ferry.

The walk was a longer one than the younger children were accustomed to take, but there was no occasion for haste—they were in search of rest and pleasure, and when little feet grew weary, mother let them stop and amuse themselves with making wreaths and bouquets of the flowers they had gathered, or by throwing stones into the river, till they were ready to go on again.

They did not go far beyond the bridge; only climbed the bank, on the other side, picked a few flowers there, and were ready to return.