own, notwithstanding the dampness that they created. An
idle woman would have regretted the distance at which the house stood
from the public road, as no distraction ensued from looking out of the
windows; and a timid or nervous one would have dreaded the long nights
in that solitary house when uncle was in the city or absent upon
lecturing tours, and no neighbor was within calling distance in case of
danger.

Occasionally, too, Aunt Mary would be left without servants, for all
American ladies know how difficult it is to retain them in the country,
especially in so small and lonely a place as Chappaqua was then, and
although she frequently had some friend making her long visits of
months, still there were days when she would be alone with only the sad
memory of her buried darlings, her splendid Pickie, the pride and hope
of both parents, and sweet little Mary Inez, and her two living
children, too young to be very companionable.

Raphael, mamma says, was a beautiful boy, although not perhaps so
noticeable as Pickie, for he had not his brilliant color, and his hair,
too, was not so dazzling in shade, but very much like his father's.
His features, however, were quite as finely cut as those of his much
admired brother, and his temperament was gentle and loving. Ida
cherishes very tender memories of him, for he was the only brother whom
she knew, and her constant playfellow before Gabrielle's birth. There
were seven years difference in the ages of the brothers. Pickie died
at five, of cholera; and Raffie at seven years old, of croup.

But although Aunt Mary had such sad memories in the past, she had two
beautiful children left to her, and for them she lived this life of
seclusion at Chappaqua, remaining here six months of every year that
they might acquire a fine physical development from walking, driving,
and riding in the pure country air. Ida has often told me of the wild
games of play she used to have when a child with Osceola, a little
Indian boy, and dwelt especially upon her prowess in racing down hill
in emulation of him. The parents of this boy then occupied the
roadside house, which did not at that time belong to uncle.

Gabrielle's stories are different. She loved to ride the unbroken
colts, and tend her menagerie in the play-house. She has, too, much to
tell about the way her mother used to train her to be as fearless in
case of fire or thieves as she was when seated upon a bare-backed
horse, and oft