house
belonging to the Craigmiles of Aberdeen.

Peter Junior's mother and two elderly women--his grandaunts--were
seated in the dignified parlor, taking afternoon tea, when the
housemaid brought Hester her letter.

"Is it from Peter, maybe?" asked the elder of the two aunts.

"No, Aunt Ellen; I think it is from a friend."

"It's strange now, that Peter's no written before this," said the
younger, leaning forward eagerly. "Will ye read it, dear? We'll be
wantin' to know if there's ae word about him intil't."

"There may be, Aunt Jean." Hester set her cup of tea down untasted,
and began to open her letter.

"But tak' yer tea first, Hester. Jean's an impatient body. That's too
bad of ye, Jean; her toast's gettin' cold."

"Oh, that's no matter at all, Aunt Ellen. I'll take it as soon as I
see if he's home all right. Yes, my friend says my husband has been
home for three days and is well."

"That's good. Noo ye're satisfied, lay it by and tak' yer tea." And
Hester smilingly laid it by and took her tea, for Mary Ballard had
said nothing on the first page to startle her friend's serenity.

Jean Craigmile, however, still looked eagerly at the letter as it lay
on a chair at Hester's side. She was a sweet-faced old lady, alert,
and as young as Peter Junior's father, for all she was his aunt, and
now she apologized for her eagerness by saying, as she often did: "Ye
mind he's mair like my brither than my nephew, for we all used to play
together--Peter, Katherine, and me. We were aye friends. She was like
a sister, and he like a brither. Ah, weel, we're auld noo."

Her sister looked at her fondly. "Ye're no so auld, Jean, but ye might
be aulder. It's like I might have been the mither of her, for I mind
the time when she was laid in my arms and my feyther tell't me I was
to aye care for her like my ain, an' but for her I would na' be livin'
noo."

"And why for no?" asked Jean, quickly.

"I had ye to care for, child. Do ye no' understand?"

Jean laughed merrily. "She's been callin' me child for saxty-five
years," she said.

Both the old ladies wore lace caps, but that of Jean's was a little
braver with ribbons than Ellen's. Small lavender bows were set in the
frill all about her face, and the long ends of the ribbon were not
tied, but fell down on the soft white mull handkerchief that crossed
over her bosom.

"I mind when Peter married ye, Hester," said Ellen. "I was fair wild
to have him bring ye here on his weddi