ove into town in October. We
have taken a little house in West Cedar Street. It is quite
small and very dingy and I presume inconvenient, but I already
love it to distraction, and feel as if I should sit up all night
for the first month to enjoy the sensation of being no longer
that horrid thing, a resident of the suburbs. I hunt the paper
shops and collect samples of odd and occult pattern, and compare
them with carpets, and am altogether in my element, only longing
for the time to come when I may put together my pots and pans
and betake me across the mill-dam. Meantime, Roslein is living
in a state of quarantine. She is not permitted to speak with any
other children, or even to look out of window at one, for fear
she may contract some sort of contagious disease, and spoil our
beautiful visit to Burnet. She sends you a kiss, and so do I;
and mother and Sylvia and Deniston and grandmamma, particularly,
desire their love.

Your loving

ROSE RED.

"Oh," cried Clover, catching Katy round the waist, and waltzing wildly
about the room, "what a delicious letter! What fun we are going to have!
It seems too good to be true. Tum-ti-ti, tum-ti-ti. Keep step, Katy. I
forgive you for the first time for getting married. I never did before,
really and truly. Tum-ti-ti; I am so happy that I must dance!"

"There go my letters," said Katy, as with the last rapid twirl, Rose's
many-sheeted epistle and the "Advice to Brides" flew to right and left.
"There go two of your hair-pins, Clover. Oh, do stop; we shall all be in
pieces."

Clover brought her gyrations to a close by landing her unwilling partner
suddenly on the sofa. Then with a last squeeze and a rapid kiss she began
to pick up the scattered letters.

"Now read the rest," she commanded, "though anything else will sound flat
after Rose's."

"Hear this first," said Elsie, who had taken advantage of the pause to
open her own letter. "It is from Cecy, and she says she is coming to spend
a month with her mother on purpose to be here for Katy's wedding. She
sends heaps of love to you, Katy, and says she only hopes that Mr.
Worthington will prove as perfectly satisfactory in all respects as her
own dear Sylvester."

"My gracious, I should hope he would," put in Clover, who was still in the
wildest spirits. "What a dear old goose Cecy is! I never hankered in the
least for Sylvester Slack, did you,