s, as letters were not daily
visitors. But now the serving-man, with a gentle rap, opened the door
and said briefly:

"Letters."

Eunice rose and took them.

"An East Indian one for you, Chilian, and why--one from Boston--for you,
Elizabeth. It is Cousin Giles' hand."

Elizabeth reached for it. They were both so interested that they took
no note of Chilian's missive. She cut carefully around the big wafer he
had used. It was a large letter sheet, quite blue and not of over-fine
quality. Envelopes had not come in and there was quite an art in folding
a letter--unfolding it as well.

"Really what has started Cousin Giles? I hope no one is dead----"

"There would have been a black seal."

"Oh, yes, m'm;" making a curious sound with closed lips. "They are well.
Oh, the Thatchers have been visiting them and are coming out here for a
week--why, on Saturday, and to-day is Thursday. Chilian, do you hear
that?"

"What?" he asked, closing his book over his own letter.

"Why, the Thatchers are coming--on Saturday, not a long notice, and I
don't know how many. They have had a nice time in Boston--and Cousin
Giles has been beauing them round and seems to like it. He might have
sent you word on Tuesday, when you were in;" and Elizabeth's tone
expressed a grievance.

"And the house not cleaned! It's been so cold."

"The house is always clean. Don't, I beg of you, Cousin Bessy, turn it
upside down and scrub and scour, and wear yourself out and take a bad
cold. There are two guest chambers, and I suppose half a dozen more
might be made ready."

"That's the man of it. I don't believe a man would ever see dirt until
some day when he had to dig himself out, or call upon the women folks to
do it."

Elizabeth always softened, in spite of her austerity, when he called her
Bessy. The newer generation indulged in household diminutives
occasionally.

"Well, there is to be no regular house-cleaning. We shall want fires a
good six weeks yet."

"I don't see why Cousin Giles couldn't have said how many there were.
Let me see, Rachel Leverett, who married the Thatcher, was your father's
cousin. They went up in Vermont. Then they came to Concord. He"--which
meant the head of the house--"went to the State Legislature after the
war. He had some sons married. Why, I haven't seen them in years."

"It will be just like meeting strangers," declared Eunice. "It's almost
as if we kept an inn."

Chilian turned. "When I am in Boston to-m