pail gal.' Well, of all!" she cried, "it's
presents, I do believe. Here, Miss Hilda, this must be for you."

Hildegarde opened the little parcel eagerly. It contained a small
shagreen case, which in its turn proved to contain a pair of scissors of
antique and curious form, an ivory tablet, yellow with age, a silver
bodkin, and a silver fruit-knife, all fitting neatly in their places;
the whole case closing with a spring. "It is the prettiest thing I ever
saw!" cried Hildegarde. "See, Cousin Wealthy, isn't it delightful to
think of that poor old dear--But what have you, Rose-red? You must be
the 'pail gal,' of course, though you are not pale now."

Rose opened her parcel, and found, in a tiny box of faded morocco, an
ivory thimble exquisitely carved with minute Chinese figures. It fitted
her slender finger to perfection, and she gazed at it with great
delight, while Miss Wealthy and Martha shook their heads in amazement
and perplexity.

"Galusha Pennypacker, with such things as these!" cried one.

"Galusha Pennypacker making presents!" exclaimed the other. "Well,
wonders will never cease!"

"The thimble is really beautiful!" said Miss Wealthy. "He was a
seafaring man in his youth, I remember, and he must have brought this
home from one of his voyages, perhaps fifty or sixty years ago. Dear me!
how strangely things do come about! But, my dear Rose, you really _must_
go to bed at once, for I am sure you must be quite exhausted."

And the delighted girls went off in triumph with their treasures, to
chatter in their rooms as only girls can chatter.

CHAPTER VII.

A "STORY EVENING."

The next evening was chilly, and instead of sitting on the piazza, the
girls were glad to draw their chairs around Miss Wealthy's work-table
and bring out their work-baskets. Hildegarde had brought two dozen
napkins with her to hem for her mother, and Rose was knitting a soft
white cloud, which was to be a Christmas present for good Mrs. Hartley
at the farm. As for Miss Wealthy, she, as usual, was knitting gray
stockings of fine soft wool. They all fell to talking about old Galusha
Pennypacker, now pitying his misery, now wondering at the tales of his
avarice. Hildegarde took out the little scissors-case, and examined it
anew. "Do you suppose this belonged to his mother?" she asked. "You say
he never married. Or had he a sister?"

"No, he had no sister," replied Miss Wealthy. "His mother was a very
respectable woman. I remembe