t of Mr. Cephas Colt. Nor had the
scattered villagers of Bywood been less generous. One good farmer had
brought a load of wood; another, some sacks of Early Rose potatoes; a
third presented a jar of June butter; a fourth, some home-made
maple-syrup. The wives and daughters had equalled those of Bixby in
their gifts of useful trifles; and Rose, who was fond of details,
calculated that there were two tidies for every chair in the house.

The boys of the neighborhood, who had at first shown a tendency to sit
round on stumps and jeer at the proceedings, had now, at Hildegarde's
suggestion, formed themselves into a Kindling-Wood Club, under Bubble's
leadership; and they split wood every afternoon for an hour, with such
good results that Jeremiah reckoned they wouldn't need no coal round
this place; they could burn kindlin's as reckless as if they was
somebody's else hired gal!

Then, the day before, a great cart had rumbled up to the door, bringing
a packing-case, of a shape which made Hildegarde cry out, and clap her
hands, and say, "Papa! I _know_ it is Papa!"--which for the moment
greatly disconcerted the teamster, who had no idea of carrying people's
papas round in boxes. But when the case was opened, there was the
prettiest upright piano that ever was seen; and sure enough, a note
inside the cover said that this was "for Hildegarde's Hobby, from
Hildegarde's Poppy." But more than that! the space between the piano and
the box was completely filled with picture-books,--layers and layers of
them; Walter Crane, and Caldecott, and Gordon Browne, and all the most
delightful picture-books in the world. And in each book was written "The
Rainy-Day Library;" which when Hildegarde saw, she began to cry, and
said that her mother was the most blessed creature in the world.

But after all, the thing that had touched the girl's heart most deeply
was the arrival, this very morning, of old Galusha Pennypacker,
shuffling along with his stick, and bent almost double under the weight
of a great sack which he carried on his back. Mrs. Brett had been
looking out of the window, and announced that a crazy man was coming:
"Looks like it, anyway. Hadn't I better call Zee-rubble, Miss Grahame?"

But Hildegarde looked out, recognized the old man, and flew to meet him.
"Good-morning, Mr. Pennypacker!" she cried cordially. "Do let me help
you with that heavy bag! There! now sit down here in the shade, for I am
sure you are very tired."

She bro