well kept, and the borders beside the path were gay with
chrysanthemums, though between these showed the frost-blackened foliage
of tenderer plants. Upon the porch was a woman with a shawl over her
head, apparently shivering in the wind which tossed the maple boughs,
and awaiting an explanation of this arrival.

"A pretty picture!" admitted Katharine, who fancied herself artistic,
"but so lonesome it gives me the hypo! And that--that, I suppose, is my
Aunt Eunice. Well, Punch, come on! Let's get it over with!"

The Widow Sprigg had remained motionless, but keenly observant, and her
thoughts were:

"If that ain't a Maitland, I never knew the breed. And I reckon I do
know it, bein's me an' my fam'ly has lived cheek by jowl with them an'
their fam'ly since ever was. But which Maitland it is, or what in reason
she's come for, beats me."

Then, as the stranger walked coolly through the gateway, leaving her
luggage on the sidewalk outside, Susanna sniffed, and remarked--for
anybody to hear who chose:

"What's that mean? Expect me to fetch an' carry for such a strappin'
girl as that? Well, not if I know Susanna Sprigg, an' I think I do."

Whereupon, the widow, long time "assistant" to her more affluent
"neighbor," Miss Maitland, shrugged her shoulders at the wind and this
absurd notion, and followed Kate. She wouldn't have missed the interview
between that young person and her enforced hostess "for a farm," and yet
she was extremely anxious concerning the trunk and the parcels. But
curiosity prevailed over caution, and she was in time to hear the rather
nervous inquiry:

"Are you my Aunt Eunice--so called?"

"I am Eunice Maitland, and though I am not aunt in reality to any one, I
have been lovingly nicknamed 'aunt' by many of my kin. But no matter
what our relationship, you are a Maitland, I am sure, and I am very glad
to see you in Marsden. Come in, come in at once. The wind is chill, and
you have had a long ride," responded the precise old gentlewoman,
extending her hand to Katharine, and cordially attempting to draw the
girl within the shelter of the great hall.

But this hospitable attempt was rudely misunderstood by Punch, who
snapped at the hand, and caused its owner to withdraw it hastily,
saying: "It will be better to leave your dog outside."

"Leave my dog outside! Leave Punch, my--my--my darling! Oh! I can't do
that. He has been so tenderly brought up, and is so sensitive to the
cold. He has really suffer