cious pony, who knew every tone of his mistress'
voice, trotted merrily off!

Having secured her little guest, Mrs. Dean thought she would give her as
much pleasure as she could. So they took a charming drive before pony's
head was turned to the village. The phaeton glided swiftly over smooth,
hard roads, between rich fields of corn, over a long bridge, and at last
rolled into Main Street, where Mrs. Dean made so many purchases that the
vehicle was soon quite crowded with packages and bundles.

"Now for home, my little one," said the lady, turning; and away they
flew over hill and hollow till they reached the broad, wide open gates
of the place known to everybody as Fernbrake, and skimming gaily down
the long flower-bordered avenue, they stopped at the door of the
beautiful house. The verandas looked inviting with their easy chairs and
rockers, but no one was sitting there, so Cynthia followed her hostess
shyly up the wide stairway, into a cool, airy room with white drapery at
the windows, an upright piano standing open, and books everywhere,
showing the taste of its occupants. Oh, those books! Cynthia's few
story-books had been read until she knew them by heart. Though in these
days it was seldom she was allowed to sit with a book in her hand, a
book-loving child always manages somehow to secure a little space for
the coveted pleasure. And here were shelves just overflowing with
dainty, gaily covered volumes, and low cases crowded, and books lying
about on window-seats and lounges.

Mrs. Dean observed the hungry, eager gaze, and taking off the
wide-brimmed hat with its white ribbon bow and ends, she seated the
little girl comfortably, and put a story into her hands, telling her to
amuse herself until Effie and Florence should come.

A half-hour sped by, and then, answering the summons of a bell in the
distance, the two daughters of the house appeared, and Cynthia was asked
to go with them to luncheon.

Mrs. Dean was a little worried about Cynthia's dress, and was revolving
in her mind whether she might not make her look more like the other
children by lending her for the occasion a white dress of Florrie's,
when, to her regret, she observed that Florrie's eyes were resting very
scornfully on the faded green delaine and the stout coarse shoes.

Now if there is anything vulgar and unpardonable, it is this,
children--that, being a hostess, you are ashamed of anything belonging
to a guest. From the moment a guest ent