own devices long enough."

Caleb had recovered his good-natured view of the whole affair; he was
given to grinning those days at her flutterings. On more than one
occasion he told her, none too flatteringly, that she made him think of
an officious hen with a brood which a high rate of mortality and
prowling night-raiders had left bereft of all save two of her hatch.
But this particular witticism did not bother her in the least, perhaps
because she realized how pat the comparison was. Instead of silencing
him she showed him the letter which she constructed some days
later--constructed most painstakingly, the second week in December.
She deigned to read it aloud to him, before she dispatched it on its
journey.

"Barbara, dear child," she wrote, "this is the appeal of a lonesome
spinster lady who finds that winter, still only a lusty infant here, is
the season for younger, warmer pulses. I am very tired of Caleb's
continued company; that is, with nothing to leaven it. The keenest of
epigrammarians, my dear, becomes very commonplace, you know, to ears
too long tuned to one voice. So I am writing you in dignified
desperation to come to me this holiday season--Caleb is not always as
epigrammatic as I could wish.

"I am going to be positive that you will come, unless you have already
made other plans. And, on second thought, if you have already done so,
I am going to fall back upon the privileged tyranny of one who once
carried you in her arms. You must come to me this Christmas!"

There was another whole paragraph of rambling, repeated arguments, and
then a full page devoted to the beauties of the hills and season.

"The days are diamond brilliant," she wrote, "and the nights as drily
cold and crisp as Caleb's few last cherished bottles of champagne. We
have a foot of snow, two feet in the ell of the house where the
mint-bed lies, and that has afforded Caleb much peace of mind, too.
The roots will live nicely under their warm blanket, you see--all of
which must read frivolously to you, coming from staid Miss Sarah. I
can only plead that already I must be less lonely for anticipation of
your arrival. Are you well? You will find new roses for your cheeks
in this climate. And you may telegraph your acceptance, this once, if
you are too busy to write, although you know I deplore the lack of
those punctillios which once made of all custom and etiquette a most
charming thing."

It was signed, "Yours, my