gh chair. I don't
believe he has any confidence in my discretion even now, and that is why
he seats me with such a grand and forbidding display of ceremony.

"Betty dear," said mother, after Eph had served her chicken soup and
passed her the beaten biscuits, "I found an old note-book of my mother's
that has all the wonderful things she did to the negroes and other live
stock on her farm out in Harpeth Valley. You know she ran the whole
thousand acres herself after father's death in her twenty-seventh year,
and she was a wonderful woman, though she did have three girls and only
one son. There is a section of her notes devoted to cows and their
diseases, and Sam might be interested to hear how she managed them so
that even then her cows sold for enormous sums. Suppose you look over it
and tell him about it."

"Oh, I will. Thank you, mother!" I answered, as I took three little
brown biscuits, to Eph's affectionate delight, and also as a shock to
his proprieties.

I had planned to open the bundle and begin my work for Peter right after
dinner, but I sat down and devoured whole that note-book of my maternal
ancestor's. I never was so thrilled over anything, and the chapter on
gardening really reads like a beautiful idyl of summer. It changed my
entire nature. As I read I glowed to think that I could go right to
Sam's wilderness and try it all out. I didn't own any land, and it might
take a little time to force daddy to buy me some, and the planting
season and fever were upon me. There is a wide plateau to the south of
Sam's living-room, and I had in my mind cleared it of bushes, enriched
it with all the wonderful things grandmother had directed, beginning
with beautiful dead leaves, and I was planting out the row of great
blush peonies in my mind as I intended to plant it in Sam's garden when
the tall old clock in the hall toned out four long strokes. Then I
remembered that I wanted to go down to the post-office to get my mail
and to see everybody and hear the news. So with the greatest reluctance
I tucked the garden idyl in the old desk which had been that very
Grandmother Nelson's, and heaved Peter's heavy manuscript in on top of
it.

No mass-meeting, no picnic, and no function out in the great world, even
New-Year's reception at the White House or afternoon tea at the Plaza,
could be half the fun that going to the Hayesboro post-office for the
afternoon mail is. I think the distinct flavor is imparted by the fact
tha