ing embers--apparently in deep meditation, though it is to be
questioned whether he thought at all. Mrs. Gordon had resumed her
knitting, while Sue and Ned, after disputing some time whose turn it
was to hold the yarn, were busily employed in winding a skein of
worsted into birds-nest balls.

"Seven o'clock comes very soon, don't it Eddy?" said Sue, as their
heads came in contact at the unraveling of a terrible "tangle"--"I
wish it would be always daylight, and then wouldn't we sit up a great
many hours? I'd go to school at night instead of the daytime, and do
all my errands, and go to meeting too--then we should have all day
long to play in, and if we got tired we could lie down on the grass in
the orchard and take a little nap, or here before the fire if it was
winter. Oh, dear! I'm sure I can't see why there's any dark at all!"

"You girls don't know any thing," answered Master Ned, with the
inherent air of superiority which alike animates the boy and the man,
where women are concerned--"If there was no night what would become of
the chickens? They can't go to sleep in the daylight, can they, I'd
like to know? And if they didn't go to sleep how would they ever get
fat, or large; and maybe they wouldn't have feathers; then what would
we do for bolsters, and beds, and pillows? You didn't think of that, I
guess, Susy."

Ned's patronizing air quite offended his sister, but she did not stop
to show it, for she had, as she thought, found an admirable plan for
the chickens.

"Well," said she slowly, not perceiving in her abstraction that the
skein was nearly wound, "we could make a dark room in the barn for the
biddies, and they could go in there when it ought to be sundown. I
guess they'd know--" but here there came an end to the skein and their
speculations, for seven o'clock rung clearly and loudly from the
wooden time-piece in the corner, and the children obeyed the signal
for bed, not without many "oh, dears," and wishes that the clock could
not strike.

"James," said his elder sister, as their mother left the room with the
little ones, "let us tell father and mother all about it to-night.
They might as well know now as any time; and Stephen will be back in
the morning."

"Don't speak so loud," whispered the boy, "father will hear you. I
suppose we might as well; but I do so dread it, I'm sure it would kill
me if they were to say no, and now I can hope at least."

"I know it all," said his stronger minded advi