. "It would
hurt his feelings." She glanced back over her shoulder to where Mr.
Delaplaine worked, taking off the outer layer of charred clapboards from
the front of the house.

"Still it is nice to own a dean, almost as good as a squire," repeated
Kit, placidly. "There were only seven original ones here in Gilead; and
his grandfather was one of those. Let's see, Jean, he would have been our
great-great-great-grandfather, wouldn't he? Great-Uncle Cassius is named
for him, Cassius Cato Peabody. Just think of him, Jean, with a name like
that when he was a little boy, in a braided jacket and those funny high
waisted breeches you see in the little painted woodcuts in Cousin Roxy's
childhood books."

"I didn't pay much attention to what they were saying about him," said
Jean, dreamily. "Is he still alive?"

"He is, but I guess he might as well be dead as far as the rest of the
family is concerned. Cousin Roxy said he'd never married, and he lived
with his old maiden lady sister out west somewhere. Not the real west,
either; I mean the interesting west like Saskatchewan and Saskatoon
and--and California; you know what I mean, Jean?"

"I didn't even hear where they lived. I'm afraid I wasn't interested.
Aren't you glad the fire didn't bum the cupola? I almost wish they could
leave the house that lovely weathered brown tone, instead of painting it
white with green blinds again. Dad would like it that way, too. I suppose
everybody would say it was flying in the face of tradition, after the
Trowbridge place has been white two hundred years."

"There comes the mail," called Jean, starting up and running down the
drive like a young deer, as the little cart hove in sight. The carrier
waved a newspaper and letter at them.

"Nothin' for you girls, to-day, only a letter for your pa, and weekly
newspaper for Hiram. I'll leave it up at the old place as I go by." He
added as a happy afterthought to relieve any possible anxiety on their
part, "It's from Delphi, Mich."

Kit stood transfixed with wonder, as he passed on up the hill.

"Jean," she said, slowly, "there's something awfully queer about me. I
heard Cousin Roxy say once, I was born with a veil, and ought to be able
to prognosticate. That letter was from Uncle Cassius Cato Peabody."

"Well, what if it is?" asked Jean, shaking the needles from her serge
skirt as she rose leisurely.

Kit drew on her freshman knowledge of ancient history, and quoted:

"Last night the e