after arranging her dress with studied nicety, and
disposing her hair in the most enchanting style--and Ann Harriet was
really neat and winsome--she descended to the breakfast room. Her cousin
Gregory was the only person present--he sat by the window, reading.
After the customary greeting, Ann Harriet inquired what interested him.

'I have been glancing over an article called 'Ludicrous Exaggerations,'
in Leigh Hunt's _Indicator_,' replied Gregory, with a mischievous
twinkle in his eyes.

Ann Harriet did not notice any point to this remark, but said: 'I do not
remember having seen that book.'

'What have _you_ been reading lately?' pursued Gregory.

'Oh! I have begun a splendid book that Mrs. Orrin Pendergast lent me; I
have forgotten who wrote it, but its name is 'The Bloody Butcher's
Bride; or, The Demon of Dandelion Dell.'

Here Gregory was so impolite as to burst into a loud laugh, much to the
discomfiture of Ann Harriet, who was on the point of describing a
thrilling scene in the story.

'I see nothing to laugh at,' remarked she, solemnly; 'it is a _very_
nice book, Cousin Gregory. Why, some parts of it were so powerful that
it made me tremble all over.'

'It _must_ have been powerful,' said Gregory, drily.

'You're a saucy fellow,' said his cousin. 'But, by the way, where is
that new suit that was damaged yesterday? You do not look so stylish
this morning.'

'Stylish? I hope not. I hate that word; it is only fit to be applied to
pigs; they always look sty-lish,' replied Gregory.

The door opened, and the rest of the family appeared, much to Ann
Harriet's discomfort, for she liked her cousin, and was just thinking
how she could make an impression upon him. The surest way would have
been to sit in his lap.

They seated themselves at the table, when the customary question came
from Aunt Farnsworth:

'How did you rest last night, Ann Harriet?'

This, of course, called forth the history of the mishaps she had
experienced, and the indignation of her uncle and aunt was great when
they heard how the occupants of the boarding house had behaved.

'Those young men over there are Boarder Ruffians,' remarked Gregory.

'Mercy!' exclaimed his fat cousin; 'if I had known that, I shouldn't
have slept a wink all night. I have heard Miss Pendergast tell about
those awful men: she had a sister out in Kansas, and a parcel of Border
Ruffians came to her house one Sabbath day and ate up everything she
had, and then ca