have Satan for a principal at your school, Marion Parke?"

"Satan! Why, auntie, we have Miss Ashton, and she's the loveliest
Christian lady you ever saw. We girls think she is almost an angel! Do
you think it's wicked to dance?"

"Sartain I do;" and the shake of Aunt Betty's gray head left no doubt
she was in earnest.

"Then I'll not dance while I am here," and Marion sat herself down
demurely in the nearest chair.

Aunt Betty looked at the big clock in the corner of the kitchen. The
early dark was already creeping into the room, hiding itself under
table and chair, showing the light of the isinglass doors of the
cooking-stove with a fitful radiance, making Marion lonely and
homesick, for you could hear the clock tick, the room was so still.
Then Aunt Betty lighted two yellow tallow candles that stood in iron
candlesticks on the mantel-shelf, put up a leaf of the kitchen table,
covered it with a clean homespun cloth, put upon it two blue delft
plates and cups, a "chunk" of cold boiled pork, a bowl of cider
apple-sauce, a loaf of snow-white bread, and a plate of doughnuts.

"Come to supper!" she said, and Marion went. How hungry she was, and
how good everything, even the cold boiled pork, looked, she will not
soon forget!

Before they seated themselves, Aunt Betty stood at the back of her
chair, and, leaning on its upper round with her eyes fixed on the
pork, she said,--

"For all our vittles and other marcies we thank Thee."

Marion, when she became aware of what was taking place, bowed her head
reverently; but when she raised it she could not conceal the smile
that played around her mouth.

She did not know this was the same grace which had been said over that
table for one hundred and twenty years; yet it made her feel more at
home, and she began to chat with her quaint old relative in her
pleasant way, telling her of her home, of their daily life there, of
the good her father was doing, and how every one loved and respected
him.

Aunt Betty listened in silence, only now and then uttering a grunt,
which, whether it was commendatory or condemnatory, Marion could not
tell. It was a long, dull evening that followed. At eight, one of the
tallow candles, much to her joy, lighted Marion to her bed.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE ACADEMY GIRL'S THANKSGIVING AT THE OLD HOMESTEAD.

Marion never knew that shortly after she fell asleep a tall, gaunt
woman with a gray-and-white blanket over her shoulders stole soft