cimen of Yankeeism, in which he saw so much of his mother.
Poor little 'Lena! how should she know any better, living as she
always had with two old people, whose language savored so much of the
days before the flood! Some such thought passed through Mr.
Livingstone's mind, and very civilly he answered her concerning the
health of her cousins and aunt; proceeding next to question her of
his father, who, she said, "had never seen a well day since her
mother died."

"Is there any one with him except your grandmother?" asked Mr.
Livingstone; and Lena replied, "Aunt Nancy Scovandyke has been with
us a few days, and is there now."

At the sound of that name John started, coloring so deeply that 'Lena
observed it, and asked "if he knew Miss Scovandyke?"

"I used to," said he, while 'Lena continued: "She's a nice woman, and
though she ain't any connection, I call her aunt. Granny thinks a
sight of her."

Miss Scovandyke was evidently an unpleasant topic for Mr.
Livingstone, and changing the subject, he said, "What makes you say
_Granny_, child?"

'Lena blushed painfully. 'Twas the first word she had ever uttered,
her grandmother having taught it to her, and encouraged her in its
use. Besides that, 'Lena had a great horror of anything which she
fancied was at all "stuck up," and thinking an entire change from
_Granny_ to _Grandmother_ would be altogether too much, she still
persisted in occasionally using her favorite word, in spite of the
ridicule it frequently called forth from her school companions.
Thinking to herself that it was none of her uncle's business what she
called her grandmother, she made no reply, and in a few moments they
came in sight of the yellow farmhouse, which looked to Mr.
Livingstone just as it did when he left it, eighteen years before.
There was the tall poplar, with its green leaves rustling in the
breeze, just as they had done years ago, when from a distant hill-top
he looked back to catch the last glimpse of his home. The well in
the rear was the same--the lilac bushes in front--the tansy patch on
the right and the gable-roofed barn on the left; all were there;
nothing was changed but himself.

Mechanically he followed 'Lena into the yard, half expecting to see
bleaching upon the grass the same web of home-made cloth, which he
remembered had lain there when he went away. One thing alone seemed
strange. The blue paper curtains were rolled away from the "spare
room" windows, which were