with some care. As to the
author--well, perhaps you can tell better than I. When did Abby write
it?"

The Mistress waited a moment or two and then in her quiet way replied,
"Pray, how should I know? Abby is of age, ask her; she can speak for
herself."

Thus the affair of the Brownie records rested until I had gone over the
manuscript more carefully. Then the Mistress was again consulted.

"Will you print the papers?" she asked.

"I am in doubt what to do. I think that it might find a kindly welcome,
but--I fear the verdict of the public, especially the clientage upon
whose favor its fate most depends--the young people. Though, to be sure,
it is evidently not written wholly for them."

"I have a suggestion," the Mistress remarked. "Let us take two evenings
in the week and read it to our farm people. They form a typical
audience, I am sure, and their judgment will be a fair test of the
possible verdict of the public at large."

"The very idea!" I cried. "You have come to my help, my dear, with your
usual practical wisdom. Let us have the readings."

Behold us, then, the entire Old Farm family, with the exception of Abby,
who was absent on a visit to New England friends, seated around the
great Elm during the long June evenings, trying the merits of the
Fairies' history. When the early tea was over, we took our seats (or
rather positions, for some of the party preferred to recline upon the
grass), around the tree, and the reading began, and continued until
twilight. Sometimes I read, sometimes the Mistress, and in three weeks
the story was finished.

"Now for the verdict," I said. "The children first. What say you? Shall
we print the Brownie book?"

"To be sure," said Joe, "why not, Sir? I think those wars and adventures
with the Pixies are just the thing for boys like me."

"I would print it," said Jennie modestly. "I think the Brownies' love
stories are pretty indeed; though I don't like so much fighting, and the
Pixies are just horrid."

"Print it, Sir!" cried Harry enthusiastically. "I'm sure boys like me
will want to hear all about the Moth, Wasp, Bee and Butterfly ponies,
and the curious, wise tricks of the Spider-pixies."

"As for me," said Hugh, "I'm young enough yit to relish a fairy story uv
mos' any sort. So I vote with the youngsters to prent the book."

"My 'pinion hain't much good, I reckon," said Sarah, who stood half
concealed behind the Elm with her hands upon her hips in her favorite
post