hich led to the river bridge,
Mr. Lincoln's carriage passed them, and Jenny, who was inside, seized
the reins, saying, "Please, pa, stop and let them ride--there's nobody
but Rose and me in here, and it is so hot and so far."

Mr. Lincoln might possibly have complied with his daughter's request,
had not Rose chirrupped to the spirited horses, and said, "Don't,
father, for mercy's sake! ask those paupers to ride."

So the carriage dashed on, but Mary forgot the long walk by
remembering the glance of affection which Jenny gave her as she looked
back from the window. Sal seemed unusually silent, and even forgot to
take off her shoes and stockings when she reached the river bridge.
Mary saw there was something weighing upon her mind, but she forbore
asking any questions, knowing that Sal would in her own good time make
her thoughts known. They had nearly reached home, when Sal suddenly
turned aside, and seating herself upon a rock under a white
beech-tree, said, "Miss Howard, I've been thinking what a splendid
minister was spoiled when they put dresses on me! Oh how hard I had to
hold myself to-day to keep from extemporizing to the congregation. I
reckon there wouldn't have been quite so many nodding as there were."

In the excitement of the moment Sal arose, and throwing out her eyes,
gesticulated in a manner rather alarming to Mary, who had never before
seen so wild a look in the crazy woman's eyes. Soon, however, her mood
changed, and resuming her seat, she continued in a milder tone, "Did
you ever hear that I was an authoress?"

"An authoress!" repeated Mary--"an authoress! Why no; are you?"

"To be sure I am," answered Sal. "What's to hinder. Haven't I told you
repeatedly, that I once possessed an unusually large amount of
judgment; and this, added to my knowledge of grammar, and uncommon
powers of imagination, enabled me to produce a work which, but for an
unaccountable freak of the publisher, would have rendered my name
immortal."

"I don't understand," said Mary, and Sally continued: "You see, I
wrote about six hundred pages of foolscap, which the publisher to whom
it was sent for examination was impolite enough to return, together
with a note, containing, as I suppose, his reasons for rejection; but
if he thinks I read it he's mistaken. I merely glanced at the words,
'Dear Madam--We regret--' and then threw it aside. It was a terrible
disappointment, and came near turning my brain; but there are other
publis