Buch lesen: «A Dear Little Girl's Thanksgiving Holidays», Seite 3

"Where is the place you lived?" asked Allen.

"About five miles from here."

"I should like to see it," said the boy musingly. "I suppose those horses are dead. I'd like to see horses that could run like that."

"They would be somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-five or seventy years old by this time," said grandma with a smile, "and the oldest horse I ever knew was forty."

"Gee! but that was old," remarked Frank. "Whose was it, grandma? Yours?"

"No, my grandfather's. Her name was Dolly, and she took my grandparents to church every Sunday for many years, up to a little while before she died. Now, Emmeline, let's hear about the ball."

"It was just a ball," began Aunt Emmeline.

"The County Ball," put in grandma. "They always have one every year at Fair time. Emmeline was sixteen and I was eighteen. Now go on, Emmeline."

"I wore white tarlatan trimmed with forget-me-nots," said Aunt Emmeline, "and I danced my first dance with Steve Hardesty." She paused and gave a little sigh. "He took me into supper, too, poor Steve." Grandma leaned over and laid her hand softly on her sister's. "It is such a long time, such a very long time ago," she said softly.

Aunt Emmeline smiled a little sadly. "Yes, a long time," she repeated. "You wore, what was it you wore, Cecelia?"

"I wore pink tarlatan trimmed with rosebuds and a wreath of them in my hair. The skirt was caught up with bunches of the little buds and green leaves, and I thought it the prettiest dress I ever saw."

"It was a great ball," Aunt Emmeline went on, brightening. "I danced every set, and so did you, Cecelia."

"And how everyone did talk because I danced so many with Ben Willis whom I had met for the first time that night. He would see me home, you remember, although Uncle Phil and Cousin Dick were both there to look after us; we were staying at our uncle's, my dears. It was during the early days of the war, and there was much talk of what would happen next and who would be going off to join the army, you remember."

"It was not till two years after, that Steve went," said Aunt Emmeline wistfully.

"Tell us about Steve," spoke up Frank. "Did he become a soldier?"

Celia shook her head warningly at her little brother, for she knew Aunt Emmeline's story, and of how her young lover was killed in battle, but Aunt Emmeline did not hesitate to answer. "Yes, he went, but he never came back."

Silence fell upon the little group for a moment till Aunt Emmeline herself broke it by saying, "Do you remember, Cecelia, how angry you were with Polly Parker because she copied your dress, and how you were going to have yours trimmed with daisies, and changed all that at the last moment? I can see you now, ripping off those inoffensive daisies and flinging them on the floor."

Grandma laughed. "Well, after all, hers wasn't a bit like mine, for it was a different shade of pink and wasn't made the same way. Yes, I was furious, I remember, because it wasn't the first time Polly had copied my things; she had a way of doing it."

"Here comes grandpa," announced Herbert who did not find all this talk of dress and balls very interesting.

The entrance of grandpa and Uncle Bert broke up the party by the fire, for soon the sandwiches and other things were brought in, then came songs and games till, before anyone realized it, bedtime came and Thanksgiving Day was over.

CHAPTER V
THE RED BOOK

Whether it was the search for the key in the chill of the early morning, or whether it was that she ate too heartily of grandma's good things, certain it was that when Edna waked up the morning after Thanksgiving, she felt very listless and miserable. Her father was already up and dressed, and her mother was making her toilet when the little girl turned over and watched her with heavy eyes.

"Well, little girl," said Mrs. Conway, "it seems to me that it is time for you to get up."

Edna gave a long sigh, closed her eyes, but presently found the courage to make an effort towards rising. She threw aside the covers, slipped her feet into her red worsted slippers, and then sat on the side of her cot in so dejected an attitude that her mother noticed it. "What," she said, "are you so very sleepy still? I suspect you are tired out from yesterday's doings."

"My head aches and there are cold creeps running up and down my back," Edna told her.

Her mother came nearer, and laid her cool hand on the throbbing temples. "Your head is hot," she declared. "I am afraid you have taken cold. Cuddle back under the covers and I will bring or send your breakfast up to you."

"I don't think I want any breakfast," said Edna, snuggling down with a grateful feeling for the warmth and quiet.

"Not want any breakfast? Then you certainly aren't well. When waffles and fried chicken cannot tempt you, I know something is wrong."

Mrs. Conway went on with the finishing touches to her dress and hair while Edna dozed, but half conscious of what was going on around her. She did not hear her mother leave the room, and did not know how long it was before she heard Celia's voice saying: "Mother says you'd better try to drink this."

"This" was a cup of hot milk of which Edna tried to take a few sips and then lay back on her pillow. "I don't want it," she said.

"Poor little sister," said Celia commiseratingly. "It is too bad you don't feel well. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, thank you," replied Edna weakly.

"Mother is coming up in a minute," Celia went on. "Uncle Bert and all of them are going this morning, but as soon as they are off she will come up to see how you are."

"Is everyone going?" asked Edna languidly.

"No, not this morning. Uncle Bert and his family take the morning train because they have the furthest to go, and Aunt Lucia wants to get home with the children before dark. Uncle Wilbur, Aunt Emmeline and all those are going on the afternoon train. Father thinks he must get back to-day, too."

Edna made no answer, but closed her eyes again drowsily.

"I'll set the milk down here," Celia went on, "and maybe you will feel like drinking some more of it after a little while."

She set the cup on a chair by Edna's bedside and stole softly out of the room, leaving her sister to fall into another doze from which she was awakened by hearing a timid voice say: "Excuse me. I hope you are not asleep, but I want to say good-bye," and turning over, Edna saw her little Cousin Lulie.

"Oh, are you going?" came from the little girl in bed.

"Yes, we are all ready. I am so sorry you are sick. I like you so much and I wish you would come to our house some day."

Edna was too polite not to make some effort of appreciation, so she sat up and held out her little hot hand. "Oh, thank you," she answered; "I should love to come, and I wish you could come to see us. Ask Uncle Bert to bring you real soon."

"Mother said I had better not kiss you," remarked Lulie honestly, "for I might take your cold, but I have folded up a kiss in this piece of paper and I will put it here so you can get it when I am gone."

Edna smiled at this and liked Lulie all the better for the fancy. "I won't forget it," she said earnestly. "I will send you one when I get well, but you'd better not take a feverish one with you. Good-bye, and say good-bye to all the others."

"They would have come, too," Lulie informed her, "but mother thought one of us was enough when you had a headache, and that I could bring all the good-byes for the others. Now I must go. Get well soon." And she was off leaving Edna with a consciousness of it's being a wise decree which prevented more visitors, for her headache was so much the worse for having had but one.

She lay very still wishing the noises below would cease, the running back and forth, the shutting of doors, the calling of the boys to one another and the crying of the baby. But last of all she heard the carriage wheels on the gravel, and then it was suddenly silent. The boys had all gone off to play, and the only sounds were occasional footsteps on the stair, the stirring of the kitchen fire, and outside, the distant "Caw! Caw!" of the crows in the trees. For a long time she was very quiet. Once her mother came to the door and peeped in, but, seeing no movement, believed the child asleep, but later she came in and Edna opened her eyes to see her standing by her bedside.

"Poor little lass," said her mother, "you're not feeling well at all, are you? I am afraid you have a little fever. I will give you something that I hope will make you feel better."

"Not any nasty medicine," begged Edna.

"No, only some tiny tablets that you can swallow right down with a little water." She went to the bureau and found the little phial she was in search of. After shaking out a few pellets in her hand, she brought them to Edna with a glass of water and the child took the dose obediently, for she knew these small tablets of old.

"Now," Mrs. Conway went on, "I will cover you up warm, and you must try to get to sleep. Grandma is trying to keep the house quiet and Ben has taken off the boys. I am going to tidy up the room and stay here with you for awhile. There, now; you will be more comfortable that way," and under her mother's loving touches Edna felt happier already and in a short time fell into a sound sleep from which she awakened feeling brighter. Her mother was sitting by the window crocheting where the sun was streaming in.

Edna sat up and pushed back the hair from her face. Her mother noticed the movement. "Well, dearie," she said, "you have had a nice nap and I hope you feel ever so much better."

"Yes, I think I do," said the child a little doubtfully.

"That wasn't a very enthusiastic voice. You can't be sure about it?"

"Yes, I can. I do feel a great deal better."

"And as if you would like a little something to eat?"

"Why – what could I eat?"

"How would some milk toast and a soft-boiled egg do?"

"I like milk toast pretty well, but I don't believe I want the egg."

"Not when it will be freshly laid this morning?"

"I couldn't have it fried, I suppose?"

"Better not. I'll tell you what I will do; I will go down and ask grandma what she thinks would be best for you. Would you like to sit up in bed? I can put something over your shoulders and prop you up with pillows, or how would you like to get into my bed? There is more room and you can look out of the window. I will bundle you up and carry you over."

"I'd like that," returned Edna in a satisfied tone; it was always a treat to get into mother's bed.

Mrs. Conway turned down the covers of her own bed, slipped Edna into her flannel wrapper, threw a shawl around her and carried her across the room to deposit her in the big bed. "There," she said, "you can keep your wrapper on till you get quite warm. Let me put this pillow behind your back. That's it. Now, then, how do you like the change?"

"Oh, I like it," Edna assured her. "And my head is much better."

"I think you'd better stay in bed, however, for we want to break up that cold. There is no better way to do it than to keep you in bed for to-day at least. Now I will go down and interview grandma."

She left the room, and Edna heard her talking to some one in the entry. Then the door opened and grandma herself came in. "Good morning, dear child," she said. "I wanted to come up before, but it seemed best to keep you quiet. I am so glad to hear that you are feeling better, but you must be careful not to take more cold. Would you like to have Serena to keep you company?"

"Oh, I should like her very much," returned Edna.

Her grandmother left the room returning presently with an old-fashioned doll which had been hers when she was a little girl. The doll was dressed in the fashion of sixty years ago and was quite a different creature from Edna's Virginia. She always liked Serena in spite of her black corkscrew curls and staring blue eyes. Whenever she visited Overlea, Serena was given to her to play with, as a special privilege. Her grandma knew that Edna was careful, but she would not have brought out this relic of her childhood for everyone. "I will put this little shawl around her before you take her, for she has been in a cooler room, and it might chill you to touch her," said grandma, as she wound a small worsted shawl over Serena's blue silk frock. "I will put her on the bed there right by you and then I will go down to see if Amanda has anything that is fit for a little invalid to eat." She kissed the top of Edna's head and went out leaving her to Serena's company.

It was not long before Edna heard some one coming slowly up the stair, then there was a pause before the door, next a knock and second pause before Edna's "Come in" was answered by Reliance who carefully bore a tray on which stood several covered dishes.

"I asked Mrs. Willis to please let me bring this up," said Reliance. "I am so sorry you are sick, I am dreadfully afraid you took cold hunting that key."

"Oh, I don't suppose it was that," Edna tried to reassure her. "I might have taken cold yesterday, for I got so warm running when we were playing Hide-and-Seek. Oh, how lovely, Reliance, you have brought up grandma's dear little dishes that were given her when she was a little girl. I love those little dishes with the flowers on them."

"You're to eat this first," said Reliance, uncovering a small tureen in which some delicious chicken broth was steaming. "There is toast to go with it. Then if you feel as if you wanted any more, there is a little piece of cold turkey and some jelly."

But in spite of her belief that she could eat every bit of what was before her, Edna could do no more than manage the broth and one piece of toast, Reliance watching her solicitously while she ate. "You're not very peckish, are you?" she said. "Well, anyhow I am glad this didn't come on before you had your Thanksgiving; it would have been dreadful if it had happened yesterday."

"I am glad, too," returned Edna. "What time is it, Reliance?"

"It's most dinner time. As soon as the boys come in, it will be ready. I'll take back the tray, but I have to go awful careful, for I would sooner break my leg than these dishes." She bore off the tray as Edna snuggled back against her pillows, holding one of Serena's kid hands in hers in order that she might feel less alone. She was not left long to Serena's sole company, however, for first came her father to say good-bye, then Aunt Emmeline stopped at the door, and behind her, Cousin Becky and Uncle Wilbur, all ready with sympathy and good wishes. A little later, she heard the carriage drive off which should take all these to the train. There was silence for a time which finally was interrupted by a tap at the door.

"Come in," called Edna.

The door opened, and in walked Ben with a large red book under his arm. "Hello, you little old scalawag," he said. "What in the world did you go and do this for?"

"I couldn't help it," said Edna apologetically.

"You poor, little, old kitten, of course you couldn't. Well, I have brought you up Mr. Fox, and I wanted to tell you that the lady by the willow has had another accident; she dropped her last chocolate marshmallow and the dog stepped on it. Of course, that wasn't as bad as the first, but when you have only one handkerchief it is pretty hard to have to cry it twice full of tears. Fortunately, hers has had a chance to dry between whiles."

Edna smiled. It was good to have Ben come in with his nonsense. "Hasn't she found her eyelash yet?"

"No, and it was a wet one which is awfully hard to find unless it is raining; it is hard enough then, goodness knows. How did you stand all the racket this morning? If a noisy noise annoys an oyster, how much of a noisy noise does it take to annoy Pinky Blooms? That sounds like a problem in mental arithmetic, but it isn't. Shall I read to you a little?"

"Oh, please."

"About Reynard, the Fox, shall it be?"

"Oh, yes. I do so want to know how he lost his tail."

"Then, here goes," said Ben, as he opened the big, red book. Edna settled herself back against the pillows and Ben began the story, while Edna was so interested that she forgot all about her headache. He finished the tale before he put the book down. "How do you like it?" he asked.

"It is perfectly fine. Are there other stories in that book?"

"Yes, some mighty good ones. Here, do you want to see the pictures? They are funny and old-fashioned, but they are pretty good for all that." He laid the book across Edna's knees and showed her the illustrations relating to Reynard, the Fox, all of which interested her vastly.

"I am so glad I know about this book," she said as she came to the last page. "I always thought it was only for grown-ups, and never even looked at it. Will you read me some more to-morrow?"

"Sorry I can't, ducky dear, for I am off by the morning train to a football game which I can't miss."

"Oh, I forgot about that. Are the boys going, too?"

"Yes, and Celia. We are all going back together. There is something on at the Evanses Saturday night, and Celia wouldn't miss that."

"Neither would you," said Edna slyly.

"You're a mean, horrid, little girl," said Ben in a high, little voice. "I'm just going to take my book and go home, so I am."

"It isn't your book; it is grandma's."

"I don't care if it is; I'm not going to play with you, and I will slap your doll real hard."

"Do you mean Serena? She isn't my doll; she is grandma's. Her name is Serena, don't you remember? I've known her ever since I was a little, little thing."

"And what are you now but a little, little thing, I should like to know."

"I'm bigger than Lulie Willis, but I'm not big enough to go to Agnes's party Saturday night." She spoke somewhat soberly, for she did want to be there.

"Oh, never mind," said Ben, with an air of comforting her, "I shall be there and I am as big as two of you."

"I don't see how that makes it any better," said Edna, after searching her mind for a reason why it should be of any comfort to her.

"Oh, yes it does," returned Ben, "for if I were only as big as you I shouldn't be there either."

"As if that helped it."

"Oh, yes it does, for, you see, they will have a lot of good things and I can eat enough for you and me both, I am sure," he added triumphantly. "That is an excellent argument. If a thing can be done for two persons instead of one, it makes all the difference in the world."

Edna put her head back against the pillows. Ben was too much for her when he took that stand.

"There," said the lad contritely, "I'm making your head worse by my foolishness. Are you tired? Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like one of the kittens?"

"Oh, yes, Ben, I would. They are so comforting and cozy. I am glad you thought of that."

"Shall I leave the red book or take it down?"

"Leave it, please; I might like to look at it after a while."

So Ben went off, returning directly with one of the kittens which he deposited on the bed and which presently cuddled close to the child. Then Ben left her, Serena by her side and the kitten purring contentedly in her arms.

CHAPTER VI
THE OLD HOUSE

Although Edna was much better the next day, it was thought prudent to keep her indoors. All the guests departed with the exception of her mother, her Aunt Alice and her own self, the house resumed its ordinary quiet and seemed rather an empty place after its throng of Thanksgiving visitors.

"You'd better make up your mind to stay another week, daughter," said grandma to Edna's mother. "This child isn't fit to be out, and won't be for two or three days."

"Oh, I think she will be able to go by Monday," replied Mrs. Conway. "I shouldn't like to keep her out of school so long."

"Her health is of much more importance than school," grandma went on. "She is always well up in her studies, isn't she? You remember that I didn't have the usual visit last summer, and as Alice is going to stay we could all have a nice cozy time together."

"But how would things go on at home without me?"

"Plenty well enough. I am sure Lizzie can take care of Henry and the boys."

"I am not so sure about the boys, though I suppose Henry could get along very well, and Celia is in town all through the week."

"Why couldn't Charlie and Frank stay with the Porter boys till we get back?" piped up Edna from her stool by the fire. "You know, mother, that Mrs. Porter has asked and asked them, for her boys have already stayed weeks with us in the summer."

"Ye-es, I know," returned Mrs. Conway, a little doubtfully.

"I am sure that is an excellent plan," said grandma, beaming at Edna over her knitting. "Edna will be all the better for a week here, and indeed for a longer time."

"Oh, we couldn't stay longer than next Saturday at the very outside," put in Mrs. Conway hastily. "I'd love to stay, mother dear, but you know a housekeeper cannot be too long away, especially when she has not arranged beforehand to do so."

Grandma nodded at Edna. "We'll consider it settled that you are to stay for another week. Let's have it all arranged, daughter. Call up long distance and let Henry know."

"I promised him, anyhow, that I would let him know to-day how Edna was getting along. He was afraid when he went away that she might be in for a serious illness. I shall be glad to let him know she is better."

"And he will be so glad to hear that, he won't mind your telling him you will stay longer," remarked grandma with a little laugh.

Mrs. Conway went to the telephone and soon it was settled that they were to remain. "I don't know what Uncle Justus will say," Mrs. Conway observed when she reëntered the room. "He will think I am a very injudicious mother to keep you out of school so long."

"Not if you tell him I was sick," returned Edna, who secretly rather enjoyed the prospect of making such an announcement. Like most children, she liked the importance which an illness gave to her small self.

Saturday was an indoors day spent with Serena, Virginia and the big, red book. Sunday, too, Edna was shut in except for the few minutes she was allowed to walk up and down the porch in the sun. She was well wrapped up for this event, and was charged not to put foot on the damp ground.

It had been rather a lonesome morning, with everyone at church except Amanda, but the little girl stood it pretty well. She read aloud to an audience consisting of the two dolls and the three kittens, she sang hymns, in rather a husky voice to be sure, and she stood at the window a long time watching the people pass by on their way to and from church.

In the afternoon, her grandfather took his two daughters to see some relative, Reliance went off to Sunday school, and Edna was left alone with her grandmother who told her stories and sang, to the accompaniment of the melodeon she had used when a little girl. Edna enjoyed this performance very much, but after a while grandma was tired of an instrument that skipped notes and wheezed like an old horse, so they went back to the big chair by the open fire. Grandma continued the singing, rocking Edna in her arms till the child fell fast asleep, the drowsy hum of the tea-kettle, hanging on the crane, helping to make a lullaby. When she woke up it was nearly dark. She heard her mother's voice in the hall and realized that the long Sabbath day was nearly over.

This was the last shut-in day, for the weather was clear and bracing, and, well wrapped up, Edna was able to enjoy it. Reliance always joined her when the work was done in the afternoon, and she led her to the acquaintance of two or three other little girls: Alcinda Hewlett, the daughter of the postmaster, Reba Manning, the minister's daughter, and Esther Ann Taber who lived just across the way. These three were playing with Reliance and Edna in front of Esther Ann's one day when suddenly Esther spoke up: "I know where there is an empty house and anyone can go into it who wants to."

"Where is it?" asked Reba, with interest.

"Down past old Sam Titus's. Don't you know that brown house back there by the orchard?"

"Oh, but it is haunted," cried Alcinda.

"Nonsense, it couldn't be," put in Reba. "My father says there aren't such things as haunted houses, and he ought to know."

The word of such high authority as the minister could not be gainsaid, though the suggestion gave the girls rather a creepy feeling.

"I'll dare you all to go in there with me," spoke up Esther Ann.

"Oh, Esther Ann, dast we?" said Alcinda.

"Why not? Nobody lives there, and I don't believe anyone owns it, for there is never a person goes in or out, even to do spring cleaning. I heard my mother say that two old ladies lived there, sisters, and they didn't speak to one another for years; that was long ago and since they died nobody knows who the place belongs to, for it isn't ever lived in."

"Like that place where we go to gather chestnuts," spoke up Reba. "Anybody can go there and get all they want. My father said I could go, and that it was all right, and he knows."

"Of course he does," agreed Esther Ann. "Come, who is going with me?"

"I'd as soon go as not," Reliance was the first to speak.

"How do you get in?" asked Alcinda, a little doubtfully.

"Walk in, goosey. Just open the door and walk in."

"Isn't the door locked?"

"The back door isn't, I tried it one day," replied Esther Ann.

"Why didn't you go in then?" asked Alcinda.

"Well, I was all by myself, and – and – I thought it would be nicer to have some one with me; it always is when you want to explore."

This seemed a perfectly reasonable answer, and the others were reassured, moreover, to a company of five, nothing was likely to happen, they thought, and the spirit of adventure was high in the breast of more than one.

"We'd better start right along," suggested Reliance, "for I have to be back, and Edna mustn't stay out after dark."

"Then, come along, all that want to go," cried Esther Ann, taking the lead.

Off they started down the wide street bordered by maples, now shorn of their leaves, but furnishing a carpet of yellow underfoot, past the church, the store, the schoolhouse and on to the old brown house sitting back behind an orchard of gnarled, crooked apple trees. The place was all grown up with weeds, though here and there were signs of a former garden. Up the rotting pillars of the porch a woodbine still clambered, and around the door, lilac bushes kept their green.

Though she had come thus far without mishap, Alcinda's courage suddenly failed her and she turned and ran.

"'Fraid cat! 'Fraid cat!" called Esther Ann after her.

This had the effect of arresting Alcinda in her flight and she stood still.

"Come on," cried Esther Ann.

"I don't want to," called back Alcinda. "I'll wait out here for you."

"You don't know what you're missing," Esther Ann called back, trying once more to persuade her.

"I'll wait for you here," repeated Alcinda taking up her position on the horse block by the gate.

"All right," responded Esther Ann, and opened the door which gave easily as she turned the knob.

The four little girls found themselves in a dingy kitchen whose belongings remained as they had been left years before. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling; dust was everywhere. The stove rusty and falling to pieces, still held one or two pots and pans. There was crockery on the dresser, and a lamp on the table.

Esther Ann led the way to the next room. "I don't think this one is a bit interesting," she made the remark as she penetrated further.

"Do you think we ought to go?" whispered Edna to Reliance, as these two lagged a little in the rear.

"Why not? Anyone can come in if it belongs to no one, and they say it doesn't belong to a soul. Nobody lives here and why haven't we a right as well as the rest of the world?"

This argument satisfied Edna and she followed along through the deserted rooms, catching sight of a moth-eaten cover here, a bunch of withered flowers there. Books, long untouched, lay half open on a table in one room, the bed was still unmade in another, and everything was confusion.

"Isn't it lovely and spooky?" said Esther Ann, tingling with excitement. "I'm going to see what is in those bureau drawers."

She darted toward an old-fashioned bureau which stood in the room, flopped down on her knees, and drew out the lower drawer. "Oh, girls," she cried, "look here."

The others gathered around her to see boxes in which were the treasures of a forgotten owner, – strings of beads, half-worn white kid gloves, a fan with ivory sticks, combs, and ornaments of various kinds.

"Let's each take something home to her mother," proposed Esther Ann. "I speak for the fan."

"Oh, Esther, do you dare?" asked Reba.

"Why not? They don't belong to anyone," came back the old argument.

"Some one else will most likely take them if we don't," remarked Reliance conclusively.

This satisfied the less venturesome, and they all sat down on the floor to make a selection. Reba chose a quaint, silver buckle, Reliance selected a mother-of-pearl card-case, Edna decided upon a tortoise-shell comb.

"Wasn't it lovely that we should find them?" said Esther Ann enthusiastically. "It will be so nice to be able to take home presents. I am glad no one else found them before we did."

"I wonder how long the back door has been opened," said Reba. "Has it always been?"

"I don't know. I never tried it till the other day," Esther Ann told her.

After rummaging a little further and discovering frocks and coats of unfamiliar cut hanging in the closets and wardrobes, and coming upon mouldy slippers, and queer-looking hats in other places, they concluded they must go. Alcinda had wearied of waiting and had gone off long before, therefore, the four, after shutting the door behind them, took their way through the leaf-strewn path to the gate, then up the street to their respective homes.

"Don't you think Mrs. Willis will be pleased with the card-case?" asked Reliance, as they were entering the gate at Overlea.

"I'm sure she will. She can use it when she goes to the city to see Uncle Bert, and I know mother will like this comb," returned Edna.

Reliance had no time to present her gift at that moment for Amanda called her to come at once to attend to her duties, remarking that she was late, but Edna hunted up her mother who was upstairs. "Oh, mother, mother," she cried, entering the room where her mother was, "see what I have for you. Isn't it pretty?"