hese letters has a date in 1598
exactly."

There was a long silence, and at length Rebecca looked up from the
ground to ascertain its cause. She frowned and drew her aching back
stiffly straight again.

"Everlastin'ly lookin' at that pictur'!" she exclaimed. "I declare to
goodness, Phoebe Wise, folks'll think you're vain as a pouter pigeon."

Phoebe laughed merrily, tossed the letters into the box and leaped to
her feet. The miniature at which she had been gazing was still in her
hands.

"Folks'll never see me lookin' at it, Rebecca--only you," she said.

Then with a coaxing tone and looking with appealing archness at her
sister, she went on:

"Is it really like me, Rebecca? Honest true?"

The elder woman merely grunted and moved on to the next bed, and
Phoebe, with another laugh, ran lightly into the house.

A few moments later she reappeared at the front door with consternation
on her face.

"Land o' goodness, Rebecca!" she cried, "do you know what time it is?
Near onto one o'clock, an' I've got to be at the Shakespeare class at
half past. We'll have to dish up dinner right this minute, and I don't
see how I can change my dress after it an' help with the dishes too."

She whisked into the house again, and Rebecca followed her as rapidly as
possible.

She was very proud of her baby sister, proud of her having been "clear
through high school," and proud of her eminence in the local literary
society. There was certainly something inspiring in having a sister who
was first corresponding secretary of the Women's Peltonville Association
for the Study of Shakespearian History and Literature; and it was simply
wonderful how much poetry she could repeat from the pages of her
favorite author.

* * * * *

Peltonville Center, New Hampshire, was one of those groups of neatly
kept houses surrounding a prettily shaded, triangular common which seem
to be characteristic of New England. Standing two miles from the nearest
railway station, this little settlement possessed its own combined store
and post-office, from whose narrow veranda one might watch the rising
generation playing Saturday base-ball on the grassy triangle.

The traditional old meeting-house stood on the opposite side of the
common, facing the store. The good old days of brimstone theology were
past, and the descendants of the godly Puritans who raised this steeple
"in the fear of the Lord," being now deprived of