d made ready our lunch, she asked us, as a
particular favor, to give her three-quarters of an hour to herself,
and then, said she, "I'll have everything looking just as if it was
to-morrow."

We respected her feelings, for, of course, it was a great disappointment
to her to be taken thus unawares, and we remained in the dining-room
until she appeared, and announced that she was ready for us to go about.
We availed ourselves quickly of the privilege, and Euphemia hurried to
the chicken-yard, while I bent my steps toward the garden and barn. As
I went out I noticed that the rustic chair was in its place, and passing
the pump I looked for the dipper. It was there. I asked Pomona about the
chair, but she did not answer as quickly as was her habit.

"Would you rather," said she, "hear it all together, when you come in,
or have it in little bits, head and tail, all of a jumble?"

I called to Euphemia and asked her what she thought, and she was so
anxious to get to her chickens that she said she would much rather wait
and hear it all together. We found everything in perfect order,--the
garden was even free from weeds, a thing I had not expected. If it had
not been for that cloud on the front fence, I should have been happy
enough. Pomona had said it was all right, but she could not have paid
the taxes--however, I would wait; and I went to the barn.

When Euphemia came in from the poultry-yard, she called me and said she
was in a hurry to hear Pomona's account of things. So I went in, and we
sat on the side porch, where it was shady, while Pomona, producing some
sheets of foolscap paper, took her seat on the upper step.

"I wrote down the things of any account what happened," said she, "as
you told me to, and while I was about it, I thought I'd make it like a
novel. It would be jus' as true, and p'r'aps more amusin'. I suppose you
don't mind?"

No, we didn't mind. So she went on.

"I haven't got no name for my novel. I intended to think one out
to-night. I wrote this all of nights. And I don't read the first
chapters, for they tell about my birth and my parentage and my early
adventures. I'll just come down to what happened to me while you was
away, because you'll be more anxious to hear about that. All that's
written here is true, jus' the same as if I told it to you, but I've put
it into novel language because it seems to come easier to me."

And then, in a voice somewhat different from her ordinary tones, as if
the