one with something of its old-time
color. The candles were lighted in the big bronze candelabra--the ones
which came from Paris; the best glass and china and all the old plate
were brought out and placed on the sideboard and serving-tables; a wood
fire was started (the nights were yet cold), its cheery blaze lighting
up the brass fender and andirons before which many of Colonel Cobden's
cronies had toasted their shins as they sipped their toddies in the old
days; easy-chairs and hair-cloth sofas were drawn from the walls; the
big lamps lighted, and many minor details perfected for the comfort of
the expected guests.

Jane entered the drawing-room in advance of Lucy and was busying
herself putting the final touches to the apartment,--arranging the
sprays of blossoms over the clock and under the portrait of Morton
Cobden, which looked calmly down on the room from its place on the
walls, when the door opened softly and Martha--the old nurse had for
years been treated as a member of the family--stepped in, bowing and
curtsying as would an old woman in a play, the skirt of her new black
silk gown that Ann Gossaway had made for her held out between her plump
fingers, her mob-cap with its long lace strings bobbing with every
gesture. With her rosy cheeks, silver-rimmed spectacles, self-satisfied
smile, and big puffy sleeves, she looked as if she might have stepped
out of one of the old frames lining the walls.

"What do ye think of me, Miss Jane? I'm proud as a peacock--that I am!"
she cried, twisting herself about. "Do ye know, I never thought that
skinny dressmaker could do half as well. Is it long enough?" and she
craned her head in the attempt to see the edge of the skirt.

"Fits you beautifully, Martha. You look fine," answered Jane in all
sincerity, as she made a survey of the costume. "How does Lucy like it?"

"The darlin' don't like it at all; she says I look like a pall-bearer,
and ye ought to hear her laughin' at the cap. Is there anything the
matter with it? The pastor's wife's got one, anyhow, and she's a year
younger'n me."

"Don't mind her, Martha--she laughs at everything; and how good it is
to hear her! She never saw you look so well," replied Jane, as she
moved a jar from a table and placed it on the mantel to hold the
blossoms she had picked in the garden. "What's she doing upstairs so
long?"

"Prinkin'--and lookin' that beautiful ye wouldn't know her. But the
width and the thickness of her"--here the