mit anything of that sort.

The Lelands had several young children, well-bred and of good
principles, and it angered Louise and Enna that Elsie evidently
preferred them to their own rude, deceitful, spoiled offspring as
companions and playmates for her little ones.

Elsie and her husband were very desirous to live on good terms with
these near relatives, but not to the extent of sacrificing their
children's morals; therefore did not encourage a close intimacy with
their Roselands cousins; yet ever treated them politely and kindly, and
made a valuable present to each on every return of his or her birthday,
and on Christmas; always managing to select something specially desired
by the recipient of the favor.

Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore pursued a similar course; Rosie was allowed to be
as intimate as she chose at Ion, and with her Aunt Sophie's children,
but never visited Roselands except with her parents or sister; nor were
the Roseland cousins ever invited to make a lengthened stay at the Oaks.

One afternoon, several weeks subsequent to the events related in the
last chapter, Mary and Archie Leland came over to Ion to spend an hour
with their young friends.

The weather was delightful, and the children preferred playing out of
doors; the girls took their dolls to a summer-house in the garden, while
with kite, ball and marbles, the boys repaired to the avenue.

"Who are those?" asked Archie, as looking up at the sound of approaching
footsteps he saw two boys, a good deal older than themselves, coming
leisurely toward them.

"My cousins, Wal Conly and Dick Percival," answered Eddie. "I wish they
hadn't come, they always tease me so."

"Hilloa!" cried Dick, "what! Ed Travilla, you play with carpet-baggers,
eh? fie on you! I wouldn't be seen with one."

"That's not polite, Dick. Archie's a good boy; mamma and papa says so;
and I like him for a playfellow."

"You do? ah, that's because you're a scalawag."

"What's that?"

"What your father is and your grandfather too."

"Then I don't care; I want to be just like my papa."

"But it isn't nice," put in Walter, laughing, "a scalawag's the meanest
thing alive."

"Then you shall not call papa that, nor grandpa!" and the child's great
dark eyes flashed with anger.

"Whew! I'd like to see you hinder me. Look here, Ed," and Dick pulled
out a pistol, "what d'ye think o' that? don't you wish you had one?
don't you wish you could shoot?"

"I can," returned Eddie, proud