stint of work to the
daughters, who hoped to be as thrifty as their mother.

Eph kept up a glorious fire, and superintended the small boys, who
popped corn and whittled boats on the hearth; while Roxy and Rhody
dressed corn-cob dolls in the settle corner, and Bose, the brindled
mastiff, lay on the braided mat, luxuriously warming his old legs. Thus
employed, they made a pretty picture, these rosy boys and girls, in
their homespun suits, with the rustic toys or tasks which most children
nowadays would find very poor or tiresome.

Tilly and Prue sang, as they stepped to and fro, drawing out
the smoothly twisted threads to the musical hum of the great
spinning-wheels. The little girls chattered like magpies over their
dolls and the new bed-spread they were planning to make, all white
dimity stars on a blue calico ground, as a Christmas present to Ma. The
boys roared at Eph's jokes, and had rough and tumble games over Bose,
who didn't mind them in the least; and so the afternoon wore pleasantly
away.

At sunset the boys went out to feed the cattle, bring in heaps of wood,
and lock up for the night, as the lonely farm-house seldom had visitors
after dark. The girls got the simple supper of brown bread and milk,
baked apples, and a doughnut all 'round as a treat. Then they sat before
the fire, the sisters knitting, the brothers with books or games, for
Eph loved reading, and Sol and Seth never failed to play a few games of
Morris with barley corns, on the little board they had made themselves
at one corner of the dresser.

"Read out a piece," said Tilly, from Mother's chair, where she sat in
state, finishing off the sixth woolen sock she had knit that month.

"It's the old history book, but here's a bit you may like, since it's
about our folks," answered Eph, turning the yellow page to look at a
picture of two quaintly dressed children in some ancient castle.

"Yes, read that. I always like to hear about the Lady Matildy I was
named for, and Lord Bassett, Pa's great-great-great-grandpa. He's only a
farmer now, but it's nice to know that we were somebody two or three
hundred years ago," said Tilly, bridling and tossing her curly head as
she fancied the Lady Matilda might have done.

"Don't read the queer words, 'cause we don't understand 'em. Tell it,"
commanded Roxy, from the cradle, where she was drowsily cuddled with
Rhody.

"Well, a long time ago, when Charles the First was in prison, Lord
Bassett was a true fri