ards her, and with him was an odd little figure, the sight of which
made Edith's heart sink with apprehension.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" she exclaimed to herself, "if there isn't Aunt
Betsey!"

Then she shrank back into the corner of the buggy, and watched the
amused glances that were cast upon her relative by all who saw her.

Miss Betsey Trinkett, of Wayborough, was Edith's great-aunt, and
constituted one of the largest thorns in her side. She was old, she was
odd, she was distinctly conspicuous; and Edith disliked above all things
to be conspicuous.

Miss Betsey trotted along the platform by her nephew's side, quite
unconscious of the tumult she was raising in the breast of her
grandniece. She was dressed in a short, scant velveteen gown that might
have belonged to her grandmother, and a large bonnet of the same date,
from which hung a figured lace veil. A gay shawl was folded about her
slender shoulders, and Mr. Franklin carried her carpet-bag with the
silver lock and key.

She waved a welcome to Edith with a mitted hand, and Edith, recovering
herself, nodded in response.

"How do you do, Aunt Betsey? What a surprise!"

"Yes, my dear, I like to surprise you now and then. I came up to Boston
town on business, and your father insisted upon my coming out to see you
all. In fact, I knew he would, so I just popped my best cap and my
knitting into my bag, along with some little things for you children,
and here I am."

And she stepped nimbly into the buggy, followed by Mr. Franklin.

"We shall be a 'Marblehead couple,'" he said, as he balanced himself on
the seat and took the reins.

Edith detested "Marblehead couples," otherwise driving three on a seat,
and she hid herself as much as possible in her corner, and hoped that
people would not know she was there.

Miss Betsey chatted away with her nephew, and in time the three miles
were covered, and they turned into the Oakleigh drive. Edith had
recovered somewhat by this time, having been engaged in scolding herself
all the way from the village for her uncordial feelings.

The others welcomed Aunt Betsey most cordially. Her carpet-bag always
contained some rare treat for the little ones; and, besides, they were a
hospitable family.

"But come with me, girls," said Miss Betsey, mysteriously, when she had
bestowed her gifts. "There is something I want to consult you about."

She trotted up the long flight of stairs to her accustomed room with the
springiness of a