"His health is feeble, and he wants a vacation in the country. He expects me to write, if it will be perfectly convenient for us to have him here a month or so."

"I don't know how we can, any way in the world," said Mrs. Royden.

"O, I hope he won't come!" cried James. "If he does, we can't have any fun,--with his long face."

"Ministers are so hateful!" added Lizzie.

"He shan't come!" cried Georgie, flourishing his knife.

"Hush, children!" said Mrs. Royden, petulantly. "Put down that knife, Georgie!"

"We want a good, respectable private chaplain, to keep the young ones still," quietly remarked Sarah.

"You used to be just like them," said her mother. "If you'd do half as much for them as I have done for you, there wouldn't be much trouble with them."

"How does that fit?" slyly asked James, pinching his sister's elbow.

"Samuel Cone!" exclaimed Mrs. Royden, sternly; "take your plate and go away from the table!"

"Why, what has he done now?" inquired her husband.

"He put a piece of potato in Willie's neck. Samuel, do you hear?"

"Yes 'm," said Sam, giggling and preparing to obey.

Willie had laughed at first at the tickling sensation, but now he began to cry.

"It's gone clear down!" he whined, pressing his clothes tight to his breast. "You old ugly--"

He struck at Sam, just as the latter was removing from the table. The consequence was, Sam's plate was knocked out of his hand and broken in pieces on the floor. The lad saw Mrs. Royden starting from her chair, and ran as if for his life.

"Now, don't, mother! Let me manage," said Mr. Royden.

She sat down again, as if with a great effort.

"You are welcome to manage, if you choose to. Willie, stop kicking the table! Take that potato out of his clothes, Sarah. Hepsy, why don't you clean up the floor, without being told?"

"See how much mischief you do, with your fooling," said Mr. Royden, with a severe look at Sam.

The boy cast down his eyes, kicking the door-post with his big toe.

"Come back, now, and eat your dinner. See if you can behave yourself."

"He don't deserve to have a mouthful," exclaimed Mrs. Royden. "What you ever took him to bring up for, I can't conceive; I should think we had children enough of our own, to make us trouble!"

"He's old enough to know better. Come and finish your dinner."

"I don't want no dinner!" muttered Sam.

But he did not require much urging. Half ashamed, and grinning from ear to ear, he took his place again at the table, Hepsy having brought a fresh plate. Meanwhile Sarah had pacified Willie, and recovered the fragments of potato that had wandered down into his trousers.

Peace being restored, the subject of the clergyman's visit was resumed by Mr. Royden.

"I don't know how we can refuse him; it will be disagreeable, on all sides, for him to be here."

"He will not suit us; and I am sure we shall not suit him," replied Mrs.

Royden. "He will want to study and be quiet; and, unless he stays in his room all the time, and shuts out the children, I don't know what he will do. More than all that, I couldn't think of having him around the house, any way in the world."

"I wish I knew what to do about it," muttered Mr. Royden, scowling.

"I want you to do just as you think best, now that you have my opinion on the subject."

This was a way Mrs. Royden had of shirking responsibilities. Her husband smiled bitterly.

"If I decide for him to come," said he, "and his visit proves disagreeable, I shall be the only one to blame. But I suppose there is but one course to pursue. We cannot refuse the hospitality of our house; but I sincerely wish he had chosen any other place to spend his vacation."

"It is so strange he should think of coming among plain farmers, in the country!" observed Mrs. Royden.

"O, don't have him here!" cried the younger children, in chorus.

Although there was a large majority of voices against him, Mr. Royden concluded that Sarah might reply to the clergyman's letter, after dinner, telling him pretty plainly how he would be situated if he came; and say that, notwithstanding their circ.u.mstances, they would be glad to see him.

"After this," said he, "I should hardly think he would come. But, if he does, we must try and make the best of it."

II.

CHESTER.

It was on a warm and beautiful afternoon, several days subsequent to the scenes just described, when little Willie, who was catching flies on the sitting-room window, suddenly cried out, at the top of his voice,

"There comes Ches', full garlick! I guess the witches are after him!"

There was a general rush to the window. Willie had spoken truly. There, indeed, was Chester, riding down the road, _full gallop_, yet hardly with the air of one pursued by hags. He sat the horse bravely, and waved his graceful hand to the faces at the window.

Scrambling and screaming with joy, the children ran to the door to meet their brother. Only Hepsy remained in the sitting-room. Her poor heart beat fearfully, her breath came very short, and she was pale, faint and trembling. She had neither strength nor courage to go forward and welcome her cousin. Samuel came from the garden, James from the barn, and the three younger children from the house, to meet Chester at the gate. The latter swung himself from the saddle, and catching up Willie, who had climbed the fence, tossed him playfully upon the horse's back.

"How are you, chuck?" he cried, kissing Lizzie. "Folks all well? Why, Jim, how you have grown!"

"O! O! O!" screamed Willie, afraid of falling, as Sam led the horse into the yard; "take me down!"

"Don't you want to ride?" asked Chester.

"No! I'll fall! O!"