WELL, after trapesing about from one store to another till I was nigh about tired to death, E. E. concluded that she had got through her shopping, except a few things that we could carry in our pockets, which kept us rushing in and out of every little shop we came to for an hour longer. Then she said we would stop into Purssell's and get something to eat, for she was beginning to feel hungry. This had been the case with me ever so long; not that I hankered much in hot weather for hearty food, but I felt a sort of faintness; and when she said something about Purssell's having delicious peaches, I knew that they were exactly the thing which would appease all the internal longing of my nature.

But just as my mouth was beginning to water, E. E. took out her watch and gave a little scream.

"Why," says she, "who would a-thought it? We have but just fifteen minutes to reach the boat in?"

My heart sank. The taste of those peaches had almost got into my mouth, but now a taste of dust came in their place. I could just have sat down and cried.

"Never mind," says E. E.; "we can get dinner on board."

"Dinner on board!" Thin soup; hot meat down in the bottom of a steamboat, with a smell of oil, sour water, and musty linen all around you—that is what "a dinner on board" means, and nothing else. The very thought made me feel rily about the temper—all that I wanted was some peaches.

You will not wonder, sisters, that I hankered after this delicious fruit, which is about the only good thing that grows which we do not have in the old Vermont State. Only think of them—round, plump, juicy; with the redness of a warm sunset burning on one side, and pale-gold glowing on the other; cool, delicious, melting away in the mouth with a flavor that just makes you want to kiss some smiling baby while it is on your lips! Think of them! then imagine my feelings when I was hurried into a hack, and rattled off to the steamboat with the promise of a hot dinner in its internal regions. We saw peaches on every hand as we drove along—in stores, on street tables, in baskets carried by Irish women, who looked up at the carriage-window pleadingly as we drove along.

"Wait one minute," says I, as a woman came up with her long basket brimming over with the luscious fruit; "I must have some peaches."

"Not a second," says E. E.; "don't you see Dempster beckoning from the deck? The last bell is ringing. Come, come!"

The Irish woman lifted up her basket, and stood there enticing me. E. E. rushed up the plank, calling out: "Make haste, make haste!"

Cecilia sung out: "Come along, Phoemie!"

Two men had hold of the plank bridge. I had to cross then, or be left behind. I cast one yearning look towards the basket, rushed up the plank, and stood panting, by the side of Dempster.

"Oh dear, it is too bad!" says I.

"What is it, Phoemie?" says Dempster.

"Peaches!" says I. "Those delicious peaches—see how they glow in the sunshine!"

"Oh, nonsense! There is plenty on board," says he; "I'll go and get some."

"Not yet," says E. E.; "the deck is so crowded."

Dempster got seats for us and a stool for himself. The crowd was packed so close that one could hardly breathe. I was thirsty, I was tired out, and just ready to cry. E. E. was tired also, and a little cross. Cecilia was just as she always is—a nuisance. I felt like thanking Dempster when he jumped up, and says he:

"Now for the peaches!"

Away he went, just as good-natured as could be, calling back for me to keep his seat for him. I laid my parasol on it, and kept my hand on that; but a minute after came a great heathen of a fellow and attempted to take the stool.

"It is engaged," says I, pressing down my hand.

"What of that?" says he, jerking the stool away, and throwing my parasol on to the floor. "Every one for himself, and no favors."

I was blue as indigo before that. At another time this creature would have riled me into a tempest, but now I felt more like crying. But there he sat, plump on the stool, looking as self-contented as if butter would not melt in his mouth.

Dempster came back. I looked up longingly. His hands were empty.

"I am very sorry," says he, "but there isn't a peach on board."

Well, there I sat, with the sun pouring down on me, while E. E. read the illustrated papers, and that child made herself generally numerous among the passengers. After awhile I got up to look over the side of the vessel, when that horrid wretch snatched up my seat and carried it off, looking back at me and laughing.

I said nothing—what was the use?—but leaned against the cabin-door, holding my satchel, the most forlorn creature you ever saw. Just then some one spoke to me. I looked round. It was a roly-poly, oldish woman, who spread considerably over her chair, and held a travelling-basket on her lap. She had found an empty stool, and asked me to take it.

I sat down while she smiled blandly upon me.

"Never mind that fellow," says she. "Some men are born animals of one kind or another, so let them go."

Her words were kind—her manner motherly. I liked the woman. She is not elegant, I thought, but who could be with all that breadth of chest and brevity of limb? I smiled and thanked her, wondering who she was.

"Pretty scenery," says she, pointing to the bank on which some cottage-houses, and a wooden tavern with red maroon half-curtains at the window, seemed to set the whole neighborhood on fire. "Now I would give anything for a house like that. Snug, isn't it?"

She might have been looking at the wooden tavern, or at a cottage close by with a beautiful drapery of vines running along the porch. "Of course," thought I, "she means that."

"Yes," says I, "it looks delightfully quiet."

She nodded, and opened her basket, a capacious affair, quite large enough to hold half a peck of peaches. My mouth began to water. Perhaps—

"Take one," says she, handing over a cracker.

I took the disappointment, and tried to eat, but with that hankering after peaches in my throat it seemed like refreshing one's self on sawdust. She noticed this, I think, and, with a little hesitation, looked into her basket again, then closed it, and, looking towards me, whispered—

"That's dry eating. Come down to the cabin, and I'll give you something nice."

"Something nice!" I felt my eyes brighten. "Something nice—peaches, of course. What else could she have but peaches?" I thanked her with enthusiasm; my eyes gloated on her basket. Peaches and plenty of them—delicious!

The stranger arose, smoothed down her dress, and led the way downstairs. Her presence was imposing, her step firm as a rock. Assuredly my new acquaintance was no common person—a little stout, certainly, but so is the Queen of England.

I followed her eagerly, thinking of the peaches, longing for them with inexpressible longing. We went through the cabin—on and on—back of some curtains that draped it at one end. Here she paused, set her basket on a marble table, and proceeded to open it.

I did not wish to show the craving eagerness which possessed me, and delicately turned my eyes away. Then she spoke in a deep mellow voice, as though she had fed on peaches from the cradle up.

"Look a-here," says she. "Isn't this something nice?"

I looked! the basket was open. She held a tumbler in one hand and a bottle in the other, from which a stream of brandy gurgled. That rotund impostor came toward me, beaming.

"There," says she, "take right hold. It's first-rate Cognac."

All the Vermont blood in my veins riled suddenly. I drew myself up to the full queenly height that so many people have thought imposing. Disappointment sharpened virtue's indignation.

"Madam," says I, "you have practised a hospitable fraud—in Christian charity I will call it hospitable—on a New England lady, who looks upon temperance as a cardinal virtue. Put up your bottle. Maple sap and sweet cider from straws are the strongest drinks I ever indulge in."

"Maple sap," says she, with a rumbling, mellow laugh, which ended in a cough as the brandy went down her throat. "Sweet cider, through straws! Well, every one to her taste."

Here she filled the glass again and held it out, smiling like a harvest moon.

"What, you won't take the least nip, just to save it, you know?"

I turned my back upon that rotund tempter, and walked with a stately step to the deck, followed by a rich gurgle from the second glass as it went down that perfidious creature's throat.

"Goodness gracious! What a surprise!"

This was my exclamation when I saw Mr. Burke coming towards me, across the deck, with a small basketful of the most delicious peaches in his hand.

There he came, smiling so blandly, and held out the basket for me to help myself. He was going to Saratoga, he said. The hot season had driven him to seek mountainous air. O sisters!

THE END.