e
did not go; instead, she laid down her work, and took his book, which
was a ponderous volume of essays.

"Now, Uncle Ridley, don't you want me to read to you?"

"Read to me! God bless my soul! you read to me! Well, I never, I never
did, to be sure; where's my snuff-box?--you read to me? No, I think not;
you--you'll read too fast, and clatter your words up, and I'll have to
work like a steam engine to keep up with you; no, on the whole, I guess
not, I guess not."

Olive's first thought was to put the book down, and leave, but her
second was the one she acted upon.

"I'll read slow," she said, "and as distinctly as I can; shall I try?"

"Well, humph! I guess you may; sit down there, and go slow," with which
remark, he sat back in his chair, spread the red handkerchief over his
face, and Olive began to read. She read well, slowly and distinctly,
and in a little while, the clear voice attracted another listener, who
came in quietly, and studied the young reader's thoughtful face, from
his seat in a distant corner.

CHAPTER XVI.

UNDER THE SHADY GREEN-WOOD TREE.

"Why, Kat, what is the matter?"

"Nothing; not a blessed thing; I'm just trying to see how big a goose I
can be. Where did you come from?"

"Down town. Why, child, you look as if you had been crying for hours.
What is the matter?"

"Nothing, I tell you; take my word, and get out of the way, for I'm
going to jump;" and down she came from above, with a swinging leap that
brought a shower of half-ripe apples with her, and filled the air with
leaves. "I had the dumps a little, and I've been sitting here in the
tree crying over this book, until my nose is so big that I cannot see
over it, and my eyes ache terribly."

"I should think they would, and you look dreadfully frowzled," said Bea,
smoothing down her own dress, with an air of self-approval. "Really,
Kat--"

"Oh, come now, don't. I never was, and never will be a pink of
propriety; and I would like to have a little peace and rest from
lectures. You and Kittie are getting so orderly and band-boxy-fied, that
there's no pleasure living. I'll be glad when Olive comes back, for she
isn't quite so distressingly particular!" exclaimed Kat, who was
evidently in anything but the best of humors.

"Well, don't get fussy about it, and I won't say any more," promised
Bea, with a conciliatory smile. "Besides, I've got some good news. We
are invited to Mrs. Raymond's picnic, next Wednesday!"

"You do