towards the house. "I brought her up here to-day for the
sole purpose of apologizing."

"Do tell! And I nearly disremembered it entirely! But I'm _real_ glad to
see you and my new niece. Come right into the best parlor."

She opened the door, and with reverent step ushered them into the
carefully kept "best parlor." An immaculate carpet, ever shielded from
the light of day, covered the floor, and a horse-hair sofa and a few
chairs of the same inhospitable material stood at regular intervals from
one another.

A pair of tall vases and some sea-shells decked the mantel-piece. During
their childhood it had been a rare treat to Jack and Cynthia to hold
these shells to their ears and listen to the "roar of the ocean" within.
On a table between the windows were some wax flowers under a glass, and
on the marble-topped centre table were a few books placed together in
neat little piles.

Mrs. Franklin was given the place of honor, the large arm-chair. The
chair being a high one, and she being a rather small woman, her feet
barely touched the floor, and she sat in constant terror lest she should
slide ignominiously to the ground.

It was so dark when they entered the room that Mr. Franklin stumbled
over a worsted-work footstool which stood in a prominent place, but Miss
Trinkett opened the blinds a crack, and two bars of blazing July
sunshine fell across the carpet. Then she sat down to entertain her
guests, but her mind wandered. The Franklins all talked, but Miss Betsey
was unusually silent. "I want to know!" and "Do tell!" came at random.
Finally she said, with a hasty glance at the sunlight:

"I wonder now if you'd mind coming into my sitting-room? I'd be real
pleased to have you, and maybe we'd find it cooler."

They all jumped to their feet with alacrity. Miss Betsey closed her
blinds again with a sigh of relief, and in the freer atmosphere of the
sitting-room, secure in the knowledge that her best-parlor carpet was no
longer fading, she found her tongue.

"I was coming to see you, niece, just as soon as I could see my way to
it. Marthy, my hired girl, has been off for a spell, and that's kept me
busy. I'd have written, but I'm a poor hand at writing. Silas he says he
wonders the letters I write ever get there, but then he's one of the
doubting kind, Silas is. I've great faith in government. I think as long
as they undertake to carry letters about at all, they've got sense
enough to carry 'em safe, even if I do di