d Ruth
a far prettier girl than any of the city rose-buds coming out this
season. Bring Leonard Randal along with you to take notes for his new
books; then it will be fresher and truer than the last, clever as it
was.

"The air is delicious up here, society amusing, this old farmhouse
full of treasures, and your bosom friend pining to embrace you. Just
telegraph yes or no, and we will expect you on Tuesday.

"Ever yours,

"SOPHIE VAUGHAN."

"They will both come, for they are as tired of city life and as fond
of change as I am," said the writer of the above, as she folded her
letter and went to get it posted without delay.

Aunt Plumy was in the great kitchen making pies; a jolly old soul,
with a face as ruddy as a winter apple, a cheery voice, and the
kindest heart that ever beat under a gingham gown. Pretty Ruth was
chopping the mince, and singing so gaily as she worked that the
four-and-twenty immortal blackbirds could not have put more music into
a pie than she did. Saul was piling wood into the big oven, and Sophie
paused a moment on the threshold to look at him, for she always
enjoyed the sight of this stalwart cousin, whom she likened to a Norse
viking, with his fair hair and beard, keen blue eyes, and six feet of
manly height, with shoulders that looked broad and strong enough to
bear any burden.

His back was toward her, but he saw her first, and turned his flushed
face to meet her, with the sudden lighting up it always showed when
she approached.

"I've done it, Aunt; and now I want Saul to post the letter, so we can
get a speedy answer."

"Just as soon as I can hitch up, cousin;" and Saul pitched in his last
log, looking ready to put a girdle round the earth in less than forty
minutes.

"Well, dear, I ain't the least mite of objection, as long as it
pleases you. I guess we can stan' it ef your city folks can. I presume
to say things will look kind of sing'lar to 'em, but I s'pose that's
what they come for. Idle folks do dreadful queer things to amuse 'em;"
and Aunt Plumy leaned on the rolling-pin to smile and nod with a
shrewd twinkle of her eye, as if she enjoyed the prospect as much as
Sophie did.

"I shall be afraid of 'em, but I'll try not to make you ashamed of
me," said Ruth, who loved her charming cousin even more than she
admired her.

"No fear of that, dear. They will be the awkward ones, and you must
set them at ease by just being your simple selves, and treating them
as if they w