burden of the song, till I heartily wished that
she had taken the plunge instead of myself. Before long they all
discovered that I was very prone to such scrapes; I dropped a very nice
hat down the well, which, for fear of its spoiling the water, they spent
a great deal of time in fishing up--I fell from the mow, but fortunately
sustained no injury; and Sylvia one day caught me skimming off the
cream--an amusement which I considered very innocent, but she speedily
undeceived me.

CHAPTER XII.

Two or three weeks passed on very pleasantly, and I began to think it
time to write a letter home. I had made but little progress in the art,
and letter-writing always appeared to me a great undertaking; but Aunt
Henshaw, having one afternoon provided me with pen, ink, and paper, and
elevated me nicely with the large Bible and my "Pilgrim's Progress," I
sat biting the end of my quill, and pondering over some form of
commencement. I had already written "dear mother" at the top; at length
I added after considerable reflection:

"I am well, and hope that you are the same. It is very pleasant here. No
more at present from

Your affectionate Daughter,

AMY."

Aunt Henshaw pronounced this "very well--what was of it;" and Cousin
Statia smiled, though I could not well why; but her smiles were so few
and far between that they always set me a wondering. The letter was
sealed, however, and enclosed in a larger one of Aunt Henshaw's, who
probably gave a more detailed account of matters and things than I had
given.

In the meantime, I was fast regaining the blooming, hoyden appearance
most natural to me; and Aunt Henshaw continued to write glowing accounts
of my improvement. In due time my scrawl was answered by a most
affectionate letter from mamma, to which was added a postscript by my
father; and I began to rise wonderfully in my own estimation, in
consequence of having letters addressed entirely to myself. I even
undertook to correct Sylvia for speaking ungrammatically, which made her
very angry; and she took occasion to observe, that she had not lived so
long in the world to be taught grammar by young ladies who fell into
pig-pens. One great source of amusement at Henshaw's, was to watch
Sylvia making cheeses. Sometimes she allowed me to make small ones,
which I pressed with geranium leaves; but one day, being a little out of
humor, she refused to let me have the rennet unless I could find it.--I
searched through the kitc