y. The high, pure brow, and calm, thoughtful eyes, remind us of one we
have met before, and the slender, nervous hands, locked after her old
fashion when troubled, prove that it is none other than our young
friend, Clemence Graystone.

"Jerushy! ain't she style?"

Her reverie came abruptly to an end, and with a momentary feeling of
annoyance, she retreated from the window, as this exclamation startled
her into the knowledge that half of the inhabitants of the little
village were already out and gazing at her.

"What can I do for you, Miss?" asked the obsequious landlord, a moment
after. It was evident that guests beneath his hospitable roof were "like
angel's visits, few and far between."

"Supper and a room."

"Yes, certainly, certainly, in no time. Here, Cary Elizy, Elizabeth
Angeline, Victory Valery, where on earth air they? Neither of them three
girls is never on hand when they're wanted."

There was a shuffle, a scampering, and much suppressed giggling, then a
frowsy head peered in at the doorway.

"This lady wants something to eat, and a good cup of tea, directly."

"Yes," drawled a voice, "she shall have it if it takes a limb. Here,
girls, spin around, I tell you, and git the young woman suthin to eat."

Meanwhile, Clemence surveyed the little room to which she had been
conducted, guiltless of carpeting, and with only one chair and a
washstand, beside a huge, old fashioned bedstead, and plump feather bed
covered with patchwork. But everything was clean and inviting, and only
too thankful for the opportunity, Clemence smoothed her hair, and bathed
her aching temples, preparatory to partaking of that "good cup of tea,"
which her host had ordered, and which she hoped would drive away her
headache.

But, alas! for human anticipations. The good, wholesome country fare
which she had expected, proved to be only the refuse of what was
considered unsaleable in market. In place of the steaming biscuit,
golden butter, and delicious cream she had promised herself, there were
huge slices of clammy bread, a plate of old-fashioned short-cake, yellow
with saleratus; butter, that to say the least of it, was not inodorous,
and a compound of skim milk and lukewarm water, dignified by the name of
tea. Leaving it almost untasted, Clemence sought her couch, and was soon
buried in profound slumber.

She awoke late the next morning, and after a hasty toilet, went down to
breakfast, to find herself the center of observation.