hat sweep of the
Merrimac and those mountings beyond!" And then, satisfied, she returned
to her weeding.

Miss Betsey's house--in which she had been born, and her father
also--stood on the side of a hill. Behind was a steep pasture, full of
rocks and stubby bushes. In front, on the other side of the road, the
ground sloped abruptly to the village. Even the old white meeting-house,
built on a hill though it was, stood lower than the Trinkett farm.
Beyond the village flowed the beautiful Merrimac. A broad stretch of
meadow-land and cultivated fields rested the eye with their peaceful
greens, and far away was the dim outline of the hills.

"Silas don't get a touch of the river," continued Miss Betsey; "and as
for the medders, they're nowhere to be seen. He thinks because he can
see the Common and the Soldiers' Monument his view's better than mine!
He expects me to give up the Merrimac for the Soldiers' Monument! Sakes
alive!"

She worked steadily for some time, until the click of the gate attracted
her attention.

[Illustration: "I WANT TO KNOW!" SHE EXCLAIMED, DRAWING OFF HER OLD
GLOVES.]

"I want to know!" she exclaimed, laying down her tools and drawing off
her old gloves; "if here ain't Nephew John and Jackie and that naughty
Cynthy. Well, well! And this must be the bride." And she hurried down
the path to meet them.

Cynthia came shyly forward after the introduction of her step-mother and
the greetings were over. All the way in the train she had been
meditating what she should say. With Jack's help she had composed a
little speech. His help had consisted in acting as audience, for Cynthia
was seldom at a loss for words. But when the time came the speech
deserted her, and all she could think of doing was to put her arms
around Aunt Betsey's neck, and, looking into the depths of the big
sun-bonnet, say, softly:

"Aunt Betsey, I'm so sorry! Will you forgive me?"

"Forgive you, child!" exclaimed the old lady, her resentment melting at
sight of her favorite niece. "I want to know! Did you suppose I'd
remembered to be angry all this time? La, Cynthy, when you're as old as
I am you'll have learned to take a little joke. And don't you suppose
I'm real pleased to have you look so much like me? If Mrs. Parker
couldn't tell us apart there must be some resemblance."

"Nor Jack, either," put in Cynthia, eagerly, with a lightened heart.

"I think you are too good to her, Aunt Betsey," said Mr. Franklin, as
they walked