me in such a life-like way that I
was afraid to touch it until Lloyd put a sofa pillow over its head and
sat down on it. Then I began to shear off a little near the tail, where
I thought it wouldn't show much; but the mattress didn't fill up very
fast. So I kept on shearing, a little farther and a little farther, here
a patch and there a patch, until I had taken a great streak out of the
middle of the back, and the rug was ruined."

"What did your father say?" asked Joyce.

"Oh, he was furious! He said a seven-year-old child ought to know better
than to do a thing like that, and if she didn't she should be taught.
But mamma wouldn't let him touch me, and only scolded the nurse for not
watching me more closely."

"Now it is Betty's turn," said Joyce, when the giggling that followed
Eugenia's tale had subsided. "What mischief did you get into, Betty?"

Before she could reply there was a step in the hall, a tap at the open
door, and a pleasant voice said: "Good morning, young ladies."

"Oh, it is the minister's wife, Mrs. Brewster," whispered Lloyd, jumping
up from the sofa and going forward to greet her.

There was no need of introductions, for the girls had met the
sweet-faced old lady several times.

"Mothah isn't heah, Mrs. Brewster," said Lloyd. "She went to town this
mawnin' on the early train, but we are lookin' fo' her to come on this
next train. And we are just dyin' fo' company, ou'selves. Won't you
come in an' wait, please?"

Involuntarily on her arrival the girls stopped lolling in their chairs,
and sat up straight, with their hands folded primly in their laps. Mrs.
Brewster had an air of quiet dignity that always made people want to be
on their best behaviour before her. Every one in the Valley was fond of
the minister's wife, but most people stood in awe of her, and considered
the turn of their sentences and the pitch of their voices when talking
to her. She never had a pin awry. Her gray hair was always as smooth as
a brush could make it, and every breadth of her skirts always fell in
straight, precise folds. From bonnet-strings to shoe-laces there was
never a wrinkle or a spot. But the Little Colonel felt no awe. She had
discovered that under that prim exterior was a heart thoroughly in
sympathy with all her childish joys and griefs, and in consequence the
two had become warm friends. Lloyd stood beside the rocking-chair, where
she had seated Mrs. Brewster, and waved a big fan so vigorously that the