asol was--well, I can't find the
heart to repeat it. At any rate, she doesn't stay another hour under the
same roof with that little fiend."

"But is that all--Oh, tell me is no one else going?" says I feeling as
if a ton of lead had been heaped on me.

"Dear me. There is no one else to care for the poor child. Of course, no
one will take it up but us. So make haste."

Out she went, leaving me just heart-broken and ready to give up. How
could I go? how could I leave him and "the Branch," as if my soul were
fleeing from his?

It was of no use. E. E. was set upon going, and I couldn't help myself.

Well, sisters, two hours after I left that bed we had packed up bag and
baggage, given a cart-load of trunks for the express-men to smash or
carry, just as they liked, and then took a little run of railroad, and a
sail in a steamboat so grand and airy, and no ending, that we began to
feel sorry that James Fisk was dead, or that his splendid ghost didn't
roam along the steamboat track and keep things ship-shape, as he left
them.

Well, in that steamboat we reached New York, warm, restless, and nigh
about ready to give out, or take a friendly sunstroke and be peaceably
carried away to a cool vault in some shady graveyard.

I mentioned this alternative to Cousin Dempster, but he shook his head
and answered that some of us might find ourselves waking up in a more
uncomfortable place than the streets of New York; which I thought
impossible, but said nothing.

Well, we had a few hours to stay in the city before a boat would be
ready to take us to Saratoga Springs--a name that sounded so cool and
refreshing, that I longed to get there and breathe again.

Cousin E. E. said, when we went ashore:

"Phoemie," says she, "there are a few hours before us; suppose we go
a-shopping? I want ever so many things. Saratoga is a dressy place, and
I haven't a thing to wear."

Then, before I could object, says she to Dempster:

"A check, my dear, or if you have the funds on hand."

Dempster gave a sigh that shook his manly bosom through and through, and
says he:

"There," drawing a roll of bank bills from his vest pocket, "will that
do?"

E. E. unrolled the bills and sorted them out.

"Ten, twenty, fifty, ten, ten, ten, fif-- Why, Dempster, what do you
mean? How far will a hundred and fifty dollars go? I want to spend more
than that on Valenciennes lace for Cecilia's dress. The child must have
something to wear."

She spoke in