e her flitting in
the morning.

We were seated at the table when she came in hurriedly, apologizing for
being late, saying that she had become so absorbed in finishing her
letters that she did not realize that it was even noon. I did not look at
her particularly until a few moments later, when Martin, after fussing
with his bread a good deal, looked up and said, with a charming smile,
"What a very becoming gown you have on to-day, Miss Lavinia."

"Yes," said father, "I was thinking precisely the same thing myself, so
you see that in spite of our condemning your sex for paying so much
attention to clothes, we men are the first to note the result of them."

Miss Lavinia looked puzzled. She was too much the politic woman of the
world to say that the dimity gown was the same one that she had worn for
the two or three days previous; besides, the fact would have cast a doubt
upon their judgment, and she was particular in all such little details of
good breeding; so she parried the compliment deftly, and straightway fell
to pondering as to what circumstance the remark might refer. Glancing
toward the open window, she caught a reflection of herself where the
glass, backed by the dark green curtain, made a mirror. She had forgotten
to rearrange her hair, and her burnished silver-shot locks remained
rolled back lightly from her white forehead without the ugly, concealing
front! I rejoiced inwardly, for the spontaneous tribute to the
improvement by those two dear, stupid, discriminating men, has settled
the fronts in a way in which no arguments of mine could, for to-night she
came to dinner not only with her own emancipated hair, but wearing a bit
of red geranium stuck fetchingly in the puff.

* * * * *

_August_ 1. Sylvia has returned, and Miss Lavinia has gone to her, Lucy
and the portly cook having arrived from New York last night, in company
with Josephus, confined in a large hamper borrowed from the fishmonger,
in the top of which a ventilator had been introduced. Josephus was
naturally indignant when first let out, and switched his tail in wrath,
declining to recognize his mistress, and starting to explore the house
like an evil spirit. This morning I found him calmly perched on our
woodshed roof, gazing wickedly at the boys' banty chickens in the coop
below. I predict that he gets into trouble, unless his silver collar,
like a badge of aristocracy, protects him. But what can you expect of