been told, sir, that some editors have been asking you to get us
to enter fiction again; and what we want to say is that we don't want to
enter it no more. What we did when we was in it was all very well, but
that's past and gone, although I've said to Jone a good many more times
than once that if I had to do this or that thing now, that's set down in
the book, I'd do it different. But then he always answers that if I'd
done that I'd have spoiled the story, and so there was no more to say on
that subject. What we've done we gladly did, and we're more than glad we
did it for you, sir. But as for doing it again, we can't do it, for it
ain't in us. Even if we tried to do the best we could for you, all you'd
get would be something like skim-milk--good enough for cottage cheese
and bonnyclabber, but nothing like good fresh milk with the cream on
it."

"I think you are perfectly right," said Euphemia. "If you don't want to
go into fiction again you ought not to be made to do it."

"I would not do such a wicked thing as to put anybody in fiction who did
not want to go there," gravely replied the Husband of Euphemia.

At these words the load that was on Pomona's mind dropped from it
entirely.

"Now, sir," said she, "we've got another thing to say; and it will seem
queer to you after what we've said already. We do want to go into
fiction, but not the way we was in it before. The fact is that between
us we've written a story, and we've brought it with us, hoping you
wouldn't mind letting Jone read it to you. Of course we was expecting to
read it to only two; but as we've got to go back to-day, if the rest of
the folks don't mind, Jone can read it anyway."

"I should like it above all things!" exclaimed the Next Neighbor.

"We will not let you go away until it is read," said the Mistress of the
House.

"Oh, I do want to hear it!" cried the Daughter of the House.

"Of course Jonas must read it," was Euphemia's quiet comment.

"Heave ahead!" called out the Master of the House.

Pomona smiled gratefully. "It isn't a very long story, but we've been a
long time working at it, and we wouldn't think of such a thing as
calling it finished until our friends has heard it."

The quiet and good-natured Jonas now drew a manuscript from his pocket
and began.

"The name of my story," said he, "is 'The Foreign Prince and the
Hermit's Daughter.'"

"We thought of a good many other names for it," said Pomona, "and I
wanted to call i