like to find out where you were a-visitin'. And
you've never heard tell of the Brice homestead, at Westbury, that was
Colonel Wilton Brice's, who fought in the Revolution? I'm astonished at
you, Mirandy. When I used to be at the Dales', in Mount Vernon Street,
in thirty-seven, Mrs. Charles Atterbury Brice used to come there in
her carriage, a-callin'. She was Appleton's mother. Severe! Save us,"
exclaimed Mrs. Reed, "but she was stiff as starched crepe. His father
was minister to France. The Brices were in the India trade, and they had
money enough to buy the whole of St. Louis."

Miss Crane rattled the letter in her hand. She brought forth her
reserves.

"Yes, and Appleton Brice lost it all, in the panic. And then he died,
and left the widow and son without a cent."

Mrs. Reed took off her spectacles.

"I want to know!" she exclaimed. "The durned fool! Well, Appleton Brice
didn't have the family brains, ands he was kind of soft-hearted. I've
heard Mehitabel Dale say that." She paused to reflect. "So they're
coming here?" she added. "I wonder why."

Miss Crane's triumph was not over.

"Because Silas Whipple was some kin to Appleton Brice, and he has
offered the boy a place in his law office."

Miss Reed laid down her knitting.

"Save us!" she said. "This is a day of wonders, Mirandy. Now Lord help
the boy if he's gain' to work for the Judge."

"The Judge has a soft heart, if he is crabbed," declared the spinster.
"I've heard say of a good bit of charity he's done. He's a soft heart."

"Soft as a green quince!" said Mrs. Abner, scornfully. "How many friends
has he?"

"Those he has are warm enough," Miss Crane retorted. "Look at Colonel
Carvel, who has him to dinner every Sunday."

"That's plain as your nose, Mirandy Crane. They both like quarrellin'
better than anything in this world."

"Well," said Miss Crane, "I must go make ready for the Brices."

Such was the importance of the occasion, however, that she could
not resist calling at Mrs. Merrill's room, and she knocked at Mrs.
Chandler's door to tell that lady and her daughter.

No Burke has as yet arisen in this country of ours to write a Peerage.
Fame awaits him. Indeed, it was even then awaiting him, at the time
of the panic of 1857. With what infinite pains were the pedigree
and possessions of the Brice family pieced together that day by the
scattered residents from Puritan-land in the City of St. Louis. And few
buildings would have borne the w