red to the
fact.

So Dorothy ignored the "specs," though she couldn't help smiling to
see one end of their steel frame sticking out from the pocket, while
she repeated to his astonished ears her question.

"Evah lib in a house-boat? Evah kiss a cat's lef' hind foot? Nebah
heered o' no such contraption. Wheah's it at--dat t'ing?"

"Away down at some one of the wharves and we're going to see it
right away. Oh! I forget. Aunt Betty wants the carriage at the door
in twenty minutes. In fifteen, now, I guess because 'time flies'
fairly away from me. But, Ephy, dear, try to put your mind to the
fact that likely, I guess, maybe, you and I and everybody will go
and live on the loveliest boat, night and day, and every day go
sailing--sailing--sailing--on pretty rivers, between green banks
and heaps of flowers, and----"

Ephraim rose from his stool and waved her away.

"Gwan erlong wid yo' foolishness honey gell! Yo' dreamin', an' my Miss
Betty ain' gwine done erlow no such notionses. My Miss Betty done got
sense, she hab, bress her! She ain' gwine hab not'in' so scan'lous
in yo' raisin' as dat yeah boat talk. Gwan an' hunt yo' bunnit, if
you-all 'spects to ride in ouah bawoosh."

Dorothy always exploded in a gale of laughter to hear Ephraim's
efforts to pronounce "barouche," as he liked to call the old carriage;
and she now swept a mocking curtsey to his pompous dismissal, as she
hurried away to put on her "bunnit" and coat. To Ephraim, any sort of
feminine headgear was simply a "bunnit" and every wrap was a "shawl."

Soon the fat horses drew the glistening carriage through the gateway
of Bellvieu, the fine old residence of the Calverts, and down through
the narrow, crowded streets of the business part of old Baltimore. To
loyal Mrs. Betty, who had passed the greater part of her long life
in the southern city, it was very dear and even beautiful; but to
Dorothy's young eyes it seemed, on that early autumn day, very
"smelly" and almost squalid. Her mind still dwelt upon visions of
sunny rivers and green fields, and she was too anxious for her aunt's
acceptance of Mr. Winters's gift to keep still.

Fidgetting from side to side of the carriage seat, where she had been
left to wait, the impatient girl felt that Aunt Betty's errands were
endless. Even the fat horses, used to standing quietly on the street,
grew restless during a long delay at the law offices of Kidder and
Kidder, Mrs. Calvert's men of business. This, the lad