arth,
"is extremely good under the circumstances. Somebody nearly breaks down
your front door on a rainy afternoon, and when you rush out to save the
place from ruin, you discover two dripping tramps on your steps.
Stranded on an island in the road is a waggon containing their trunks,
from which place of refuge they recently swam to your door. 'How do you
do, Aunt Peace?' says mother; 'we've come to live with you from this
time on to the finish.' On behalf of this committee, ladies, I thank
you, from my heart, for calling us 'company.'"

Laughing, he rose and made an exaggerated courtesy. "Lynn! Lynn!"
expostulated his mother. "Is it possible that after all my explanations
you don't understand? Why, I wrote more than two weeks ago, asking her
to let us know if she didn't want us. Silence always gives consent, and
so we came."

"Yes, we came all right," continued the boy, cheerfully, "and, as
everybody knows, we're here now, but isn't it just like a woman? Upon my
word, I think they're queer--the whole tribe."

"Having thus spoken," remarked the girl, "you might tell us how a man
would have managed it."

"Very easily. A man would have called in his stenographer--no, he
wouldn't, either, because it was a personal letter. He would have made
an excavation into his desk and found the proper stationery, and would
have put in a new pen. 'My dear Aunt Peace,' he would have said, 'you
mustn't think I've forgotten you because I haven't written for such a
long time. If I had written every time I had wanted to, or had thought
of you, actually, you'd have been bored to death with me. I have a kid
who thinks he is going to be a fiddler, and we have decided to come and
live with you while he finds out, as we understand that Herr Franz
Kaufmann, who is not unknown to fame, lives in your village. Will you
please let us know? If you can't take us, or don't want to, here's a
postage stamp, and no hard feelings on either side.'"

"Just what I said," explained Mrs. Irving, "though my language wasn't
quite like yours."

The old lady smiled again. "My dears," she began, "let us cease this
unprofitable discussion. It is all because we are so far out of the
beaten track that we seldom go to the post-office. I am sure the letter
is there now."

"I will get it to-morrow," replied Lynn, "which is kind of me,
considering that my remarks have just been alluded to as
'unprofitable.'"

"You can't expect everybody to think as much of what yo