e place."

"Truly, Mam, I think she is," said Martha, putting down the buttered
toast on the exact centre of the little round mat where it belonged;
"and I think she would do it too!"

"A widow," Miss Wealthy explained, turning to Hildegarde, her kind eyes
beaming with interest, "fond of children, neat as _wax_, capable, a good
cook, and makes butter equal to Martha's. My dears, Cynthia Brett was
made for this emergency. Zerubbabel, my lad, are you desirous of
attracting attention? We will gladly listen to any suggestion you have
to make."

The unfortunate Bubble, who had been drumming on the table with his
spoon, blushed furiously, muttered an incoherent apology, and wished he
were small enough to dive into his bowl of porridge.

"And this brings me to another plan," continued the dear old lady.
"Bixby, where Cynthia Brett lives, is an extremely pretty little
village, and I should like you all to see it. What do you say to driving
over there, spending the night at Mrs. Brett's, and coming back the next
day, after making the arrangements with her? Zerubbabel could borrow Mr.
Rawson's pony, I am sure, and be your escort. Do you like the plan,
Hilda, my dear?"

"Oh, Cousin Wealthy," cried Hildegarde, "it is too delightful! We should
enjoy it above all things. But--no!" she added, "what would you do
without the Doctor? You would lose your drive. Is there no other way of
sending word to Mrs. Brett?"

But Miss Wealthy would not hear of any other way. It was a pity if she
could not stay at home one day, she said. So when Mr. Brisket, the long
butcher from Bixby, came that morning, and towering in the doorway, six
feet and a half of blue jean, asked if they wanted "a-any ni-ice
mut-ton toda-a-ay," he was intrusted with a note from Martha to her
cousin, telling of the projected expedition, and warning her to expect
the young ladies the next day but one.

The day came,--a day of absolute beauty, and though still very hot, not
unbearable. Dr. Abernethy had had an excellent breakfast, with twice his
usual quantity of oats, so that he actually frisked when he was brought
round to the door. The whole family assembled to see the little party
start. Miss Wealthy stood on the piazza, looking like an ancient Dresden
shepherdess in her pink and white and silver beauty, and gave caution
after caution: they must spare the horse up hill, and _never_ trot down
hill; "and let the good beast drink, dearie, when you come to the
half-wa