ever was born int' the world!"
exclaimed Miranda; "but she can turn off work when she's got a mind to!"

At quarter past five everything was ready, and the neighbors, those at
least who were within sight of the brick house (a prominent object in
the landscape when there were no leaves on the trees), were curious
almost to desperation. Shades up in both parlors! Shades up in the two
south bedrooms! And fires--if human vision was to be relied on--fires
in about every room. If it had not been for the kind offices of a lady
who had been at the meeting, and who charitably called in at one or two
houses and explained the reason of all this preparation, there would
have been no sleep in many families.

The missionary party arrived promptly, and there were but two children,
seven or eight having been left with the brethren in Portland, to
diminish traveling expenses. Jane escorted them all upstairs, while
Miranda watched the cooking of the supper; but Rebecca promptly took
the two little girls away from their mother, divested them of their
wraps, smoothed their hair, and brought them down to the kitchen to
smell the beans.

There was a bountiful supper, and the presence of the young people
robbed it of all possible stiffness. Aunt Jane helped clear the table
and put away the food, while Miranda entertained in the parlor; but
Rebecca and the infant Burches washed the dishes and held high carnival
in the kitchen, doing only trifling damage--breaking a cup and plate
that had been cracked before, emptying a silver spoon with some
dishwater out of the back door (an act never permitted at the brick
house), and putting coffee grounds in the sink. All evidences of crime
having been removed by Rebecca, and damages repaired in all possible
cases, the three entered the parlor, where Mr. and Mrs. Cobb and Deacon
and Mrs. Milliken had already appeared.

It was such a pleasant evening! Occasionally they left the heathen in
his blindness bowing down to wood and stone, not for long, but just to
give themselves (and him) time enough to breathe, and then the Burches
told strange, beautiful, marvelous things. The two smaller children
sang together, and Rebecca, at the urgent request of Mrs. Burch, seated
herself at the tinkling old piano and gave "Wild roved an Indian girl,
bright Alfarata" with considerable spirit and style.

At eight o'clock she crossed the room, handed a palm-leaf fan to her
aunt Miranda, ostensibly that she might shade