which had probably
occasioned the unpleasant scowl on his features, at his return from the
post-office, two hours before. He said he had received a letter from
his cousin Rensford, the clergyman, who proposed to visit them in the
course of one or two weeks.

"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