w you've been thinking about them and are
extra glad to see them. Besides, unless we have company soon, those
tarts will have to be eaten by the family, and a new batch made; you
remember the one I had when I was rewarding myself last week? That was
queer--but nice," she added hastily.

"Mebbe you could think of something of your own you could give away
without taking my tarts!" responded Miranda tersely; the joints of her
armor having been pierced by the fatally keen tongue of her niece, who
had insinuated that company-tarts lasted a long time in the brick house.
This was a fact; indeed, the company-tart was so named, not from any
idea that it would ever be eaten by guests, but because it was too good
for every-day use.

Rebecca's face crimsoned with shame that she had drifted into an
impolite and, what was worse, an apparently ungrateful speech.

"I didn't mean to say anything not nice, Aunt Miranda," she stammered.
"Truly the tart was splendid, but not exactly like new, that's all. And
oh! I know what I can take Clara Belle! A few chocolate drops out of the
box Mr. Ladd gave me on my birthday."

"You go down cellar and get that tart, same as I told you," commanded
Miranda, "and when you fill it don't uncover a new tumbler of jelly;
there's some dried-apple preserves open that'll do. Wear your rubbers
and your thick jacket. After runnin' all the way down there--for your
legs never seem to be rigged for walkin' like other girls'--you'll set
down on some damp stone or other and ketch your death o' cold, an' your
Aunt Jane n' I'll be kep' up nights nursin' you and luggin' your meals
upstairs to you on a waiter."

Here Miranda leaned her head against the back of her rocking
chair, dropped her knitting and closed her eyes wearily, for when the
immovable body is opposed by the irresistible force there is a certain
amount of jar and disturbance involved in the operation.

Rebecca moved toward the side door, shooting a questioning glance at
Aunt Jane as she passed. The look was full of mysterious suggestion and
was accompanied by an almost imperceptible gesture. Miss Jane knew that
certain articles were kept in the entry closet, and by this time she had
become sufficiently expert in telegraphy to know that Rebecca's unspoken
query meant: "COULD YOU PERMIT THE HAT WITH THE RED WINGS, IT BEING
SATURDAY, FINE SETTLED WEATHER, AND A PLEASURE EXCURSION?"

These confidential requests, though fraught with embarrassment when