ros seemed
almost lost; but they occupied adjoining box-stalls which, if rather
time-worn and broken, were still most roomy and comfortable.

"Why, huckleberries! It's bigger 'n the mill sheds. And only them two.
Will he swop?"

As he asked this question the lad pulled from his pocket a miscellaneous
collection of objects, and invitingly displayed them upon the palm of
his long hand.

"No, I think not. I fancy we are not a 'swopping' family. But I must
choose some name for you besides that dreadful 'Bony.' Bonaparte is too
long. So is Lafayette. Let me see. Suppose we make it just 'Fayette'?
That is short and pleasant to speak, and I like my friends to have nice
names. Would you like it?"

"Bully!"

"Why--why, Fayette! That doesn't sound well."

"Sho! Don't it? One all black an' t'other all white. Hum."

"Br-r-r-ray! Ah-umph--h-umph--umph--mph--ph--h-h-h!" observed Balaam to
his sister.

Fayette laughed, so noisily and uproariously that the burros brayed
again; and they kept up this amusing concert until Amy had brought each
an armful of hay, and had directed her companion where to find a pail
and water for their drink.

Then they returned to the house and beheld Cleena in the dining room,
already mounted upon the step-ladder, trying to arrange the branches
with more regard to the saving of time than to grace. But she made to
the picture-seeing girl a very attractive "bit."

Indeed, Cleena Keegan was a person of sufficient importance to warrant a
paragraph quite to herself. She was a woman of middle age, with a wealth
of curling, iron-gray hair, which she tucked away under a plain white
cap. Her figure was large and grandly developed. She wore a blue print
gown, carefully pinned back about her hips, thus disclosing her scarlet
flannel petticoat; both garments faded by time and frequent washings to
a most "artistic" hue. Upon her shoulders was folded a kerchief of
coarse white muslin, spotlessly clean; and as she stood, poised among
the glowing branches, with the dying sunset light touching her honest
face to unusual brightness, she was well worth Amy's eager wish:--

"Oh, Cleena! That father were only here to see and paint you just as you
are this minute!"

"Humph! It's meself's glad he isn't."

"Why! That's not nice of you, Goodsoul. Yet it's a great pity that a
body who is such a 'study' in herself can't fix those branches a bit
more gracefully. You're jamming the leaves all into a little mess and
sh