te fingers with it often and often
of an evening, after the day's sight-seeing is over, to tell Rose, in
return, what a charming journey she is having, and how kind papa is, and
what a world of strange things she is seeing; and there are descriptions
of sunsets and sunrises, and of lakes and of mountains, on those
close-written sheets of hers, which Rose, in her enthusiasm, declares to
be equal to many descriptions in print. We dare say they were better
than a great many such.

Poor Rose feels that she has only very humdrum stories to tell in return
for these; but she ekes out her letters pretty well, after all, and what
they lack in novelty is made up in affection.

"There is really nothing new to tell," she writes, "except it be that
our old friend, Miss Almira Tourtelot, astonished us all with a new
bonnet last Sunday, and with new saffron ribbons; and she has come out,
too, in the new tight sleeves, in which she looks drolly enough. Phil is
very uneasy, now that his schooling is done, and talks of going to the
West Indies about some business in which papa is concerned. I hope he
will go, if he doesn't stay too long. He is such a dear, good fellow!
Madame Arles asks after you, when I see her, which is not very often
now; for since the Doctor has come back from New York, he has had a new
talk with mamma, and has quite won her over to _his view of the matter_.
So good bye to French for the present! Heigho! But I don't know that I'm
sorry, now that you are not here, dear Ady.

"Another queer thing I had almost forgotten to tell you. The poor Boody
girl,--you must remember her? Well, she has come back on a sudden; and
they say her father would not receive her in his house,--there are
_terrible stories_ about it!--and now she is living with an old woman
far out upon the river-road,--only a little garret-chamber for herself
and _the child she brought back with her_. Of course _nobody_ goes near
her, or looks at her, if she comes on the street. But--the queerest
thing!--when Madame Arles heard of it and of her story, what does she do
but _walk far out to visit her_, and talked with her in her broken
English for an hour, they say. Papa says she (Madame A.) must be a very
bad woman or a very good woman. Miss Johns says _she always thought she
was a bad woman_. The Bowriggs are, of course, very indignant, and I
doubt if Madame A. comes to Ashfield again with them."

And again, at a later date, Rose writes,--

"The Bowrigg