r her, though she died when I was quite a
little girl. He had an aunt, too,--a singular woman, who used to be very
kind to me. What is it, my dear?" For Hildegarde had given a little cry
of surprise.

"Here is a name!" cried the girl. "At least, it looks like a name; but I
cannot make it out. See, Cousin Wealthy, on the little tablet! Oh, how
interesting!"

Miss Wealthy took the tablet, which consisted of two thin leaves of
ivory, fitting closely together. On the inside of one leaf was written
in pencil, in a tremulous hand. "Ca-ira."

"Is it a name?" asked Rose.

Miss Wealthy nodded. "His aunt's name," she said,--"Ca-iry[1]
Pennypacker. Yes, surely; this must have belonged to her. Dear, dear!
how strangely things come about! Aunt Ca-iry we all called her, though
she was no connection of ours. And to think of your having her
scissors-case! Now I come to remember, I used to see this in her basket
when I used to poke over her things, as I loved to do. Dear, dear!"

"Oh, Cousin Wealthy," cried Hildegarde, "_do_ tell us about her, please!
How came she to have such a queer name? I am sure there must be some
delightful story about her."

Miss Wealthy considered a minute, then she said: "My dear, if you will
open the fourth left-hand drawer of that chest between the windows, and
look in the farther right-hand corner of the drawer, I think you will
find a roll of paper tied with a pink ribbon."

Hildegarde obeyed in wondering silence; and Miss Wealthy, taking the
roll, held it in her hand for a moment without speaking, which was very
trying to the girls' feelings. At last she said,--

"There _is_ an interesting story about Ca-iry Pennypacker, and,
curiously enough, I have it here, written down by--whom do you
think?--your mother, Hilda, my dear!"

"My mother!" cried Hildegarde, in amazement.

"Your mother," repeated Miss Wealthy. "You see, when Mildred was a
harum-scarum girl--" Hildegarde uttered an exclamation, and Miss Wealthy
stopped short. "Is there something you want to say, dear?" she asked
gently. "I will wait."

The girl blushed violently. "I beg your pardon, Cousin Wealthy," she
said humbly. "Shall I go out and stand in the entry? Papa always used to
make me, when I interrupted."

"You are rather too big for that now, my child," said the old lady,
smiling; "and I notice that you very seldom interrupt. It is better
_never_ done, however. Well, as I was saying, your mother used to make
me a great many vi