"my
grandniece" that this was a slight return indeed for the pleasure that
she had given to her affectionate E. D.

"Poor dear Aunt Emily!" cried Hildegarde. "She has so little pleasure, I
suppose every little attention counts for a good deal. Oh, aren't you
glad we sent her the Mechlin tabs? She and Hobson will have good times
over them, I am sure. Well, Auntie, what now?"

Auntie brought in a huge box. "Dis ain't for you, Miss Hildy, chile, dis
for you' Ma. You can' 'spec' to have everyt'ing, young lady!"

"Flowers, Mammina! Oh, the lovely things! Do let me see--From Mr.
Raymond Ferrers! The dear thing! Why, we shall be a perfect bower, for I
know the Colonel is going to send you a box. Dear me! What a delightful
time we are having, aren't we, love?"

"If you don't eat your breakfast, Hilda, I shall have all these things
taken away, and kept till dinner."

"Oh, I will eat, I will indeed! See me! Observe me sacrificing myself to
rolls and orange marmalade! But do you see that it is snowing, my own?
And do you know what that means? Tobogganing this afternoon, if there is
any faith in Merryweathers."

Hildegarde was so excited it was really difficult for her to eat
anything like enough to satisfy the demands of Auntie.

"You ain't goin' to no chu'ch on no empty stomick!" that potentate
announced; and she actually stood over Hildegarde till a fair portion of
her good things was disposed of. Then, when church-time came, she must
see personally that both her "Missies" were properly wrapped, and
properly toasted before going out.

"You ain't no right to go out at all, Mis' Grahame, and you knows it
well as I do; but dere ain't no holdin' you some times, and dis is one
of 'em, I know. Nothin' for old woman to do, 'cept just see dat you's
fixed up right. You' bonnet ain't straight, mum; I should go crazy if
you started out like ob dat."

The chore-man had already been at work with shovel and broom, so that
there was a path cleared through the snow to the road; the snow was
already quite deep, and Hildegarde and her mother were glad of their
high snow-boots, as they picked their way along. Hildegarde stopped
every other moment to take a handful of snow from some hanging branch,
sometimes to eat it, oftener to toss it in the air for pure joy. It was
beautiful snow, soft and dry, the crystals showing with exquisite
distinctness.

"I feel about ten years old, darling!" the girl announced, as she
frisked hither and th