was eleven o'clock
almost; it would take her every moment to dress and be at the depot
in time; so she had to set the chairs back into the half-swept room,
replace her working garb by the green dress and the plaid shawl, take
her blue umbrella and trudge off, leaving the management of the
dinner to Keziah. Her frame of mind as she did so augured ill for the
welcome of her sister's children.

The cars were half an hour late, and Miss Hepsy strode up and down
the platform in a ferment of wrath and impatience, thinking of the
dinner under awkward Keziah's supervision; of the sweeping and
dusting and baking all to be done in the afternoon; of the bother two
strange children were sure to be; of a hundred and one things, which
brought her temper up to fever heat by the time the train puffed into
the depot. From the window of a first-class compartment two faces
looked out eagerly, but failed to recognize in Miss Hepsy the sister
of the dear dead mother they had so lately lost. Miss Hepsy saw Mr,
Goldthwaite step out first, followed by a tall, handsome-looking boy,
well dressed and refined-looking, who in his turn assisted with care
and tenderness a slight, delicate-looking girl, who bore such a
strong resemblance to her dead mother that her aunt had no difficulty
in recognizing her. She stamped forward, nodded to Mr. Goldthwaite,
and held out a hand in turn to each of the children.

"I'm tired to death waitin' on these pesky cars," she said,
addressing herself to Mr. Goldthwaite. "I hope they've behaved
themselves, sir, an' not bothered ye.--Bless me, children, don't
stare at me so; I'm your Aunt Hepzibah. You look as if you had never
seen a woman afore."

"There is a trunk, Miss Hepsy," said Mr. Goldthwaite, unable to help
an amused smile playing about his mouth. "You will need to send a
cart for it.--They have been very good children indeed, and instead
of bothering, have greatly helped to make my journey enjoyable."

"I'm glad to hear it, I'm sure," said Miss Hepsy, looking very much
as if she was not glad at all. "Well, I guess we'd better be
movin'.--What's your name, boy?" she said, turning to the lad with an
abruptness which made him start.

"My name is Tom, aunt," he answered promptly; "this is Lucy."
"Miss Hetty might have called one of ye after her own kin.--Well,
good-day, Mr. Goldthwaite; I guess Josh'll walk down to the parsonage
at night an' pay up.--Come along."

"Good-bye, Tom, good-bye, Lucy, in the me