side or the North Woods. This was a chance that might not happen in
years again, and it made the house very gay for the young ladies; they
ceased to pay court to the clerk, and asked him for letters only at
mail-time. Five or six couples were often on the floor together, at the
hops, and the young people sat so thick upon the stairs that one could
scarcely get up or down.

So many young men made it gay not only for the young ladies, but also for
a certain young married lady, when she managed to shirk her rather filial
duties to her husband, who was much about the verandas, purblindly
feeling his way with a stick, as he walked up and down, or sitting opaque
behind the glasses that preserved what was left of his sight, while his
wife read to him. She was soon acquainted with a good many more people
than he knew, and was in constant request for such occasions as needed a
chaperon not averse to mountain climbing, or drives to other hotels for
dancing and supper and return by moonlight, or the more boisterous sorts
of charades; no sheet and pillow case party was complete without her; for
welsh-rarebits her presence was essential. The event of the conflict
between these social claims and her duties to her husband was her appeal
to Mrs. Atwell on a point which the landlady referred to Clementina.

"She wants somebody to read to her husband, and I don't believe but what
you could do it, Clem. You're a good reader, as good as I want to hear,
and while you may say that you don't put in a great deal of elocution, I
guess you can read full well enough. All he wants is just something to
keep him occupied, and all she wants is a chance to occupy herself with
otha folks. Well, she is moa their own age. I d'know as the's any hahm in
her. And my foot's so much betta, now, that I don't need you the whole
while, any moa."

"Did you speak to her about me?" asked the girl.

"Well, I told her I'd tell you. I couldn't say how you'd like."

"Oh, I guess I should like," said Clementina, with her eyes shining.
"But--I should have to ask motha."

"I don't believe but what your motha'd be willin'," said Mrs. Atwell.
"You just go down and see her about it."

The next day Mrs. Milray was able to take leave of her husband, in
setting off to matronize a coaching party, with an exuberance of good
conscience that she shared with the spectators. She kissed him with
lively affection, and charged him not to let the child read herself to
death for hi