.

"Wilbur," she sobbed, "don't you know me--Aunt Cynthia?"

"You are not my Aunt Cynthia," said Wilbur. "Daddy said Aunt Cynthia
was good and kind--you are a cross, bad woman. I want Daddy. Why
doesn't he come? Why doesn't he come to little Wilbur?"

Miss Cynthia got up and faced the doctor.

"He's _got_ to get better," she said stubbornly. "Spare no expense or
trouble. If he dies, I will be a murderess. He must live and give me a
chance to make it up for him."

And he did live; but for a long time it was a hard fight, and there
were days when it seemed that death must win. Miss Cynthia got so thin
and wan that even Mrs. John Joe pitied her.

The earth seemed to Miss Cynthia to laugh out in prodigal joyousness
on the afternoon she drove home when Wilbur had been pronounced out of
danger. How tranquil the hills looked, with warm October sunshine
sleeping on their sides and faint blue hazes on their brows! How
gallantly the maples flaunted their crimson flags! How kind and
friendly was every face she met! Afterwards, Miss Cynthia said she
began to live that day.

Wilbur's recovery was slow. Every day Miss Cynthia drove over with
some dainty, and her loving gentleness sat none the less gracefully on
her because of its newness. Wilbur grew to look for and welcome her
coming. When it was thought safe to remove him, Miss Cynthia went to
the hospital with a phaeton-load of shawls and pillows.

"I have come to take you away," she said.

Wilbur shrank back. "Not to Mr. Robins," he said piteously. "Oh, not
there, Aunt Cynthia!"

Them Notorious Pigs

John Harrington was a woman-hater, or thought that he was, which
amounts to the same thing. He was forty-five and, having been handsome
in his youth, was a fine-looking man still. He had a remarkably good
farm and was a remarkably good farmer. He also had a garden which was
the pride and delight of his heart or, at least, it was before Mrs.
Hayden's pigs got into it.

Sarah King, Harrington's aunt and housekeeper, was deaf and crabbed,
and very few visitors ever came to the house. This suited Harrington.
He was a good citizen and did his duty by the community, but his bump
of sociability was undeveloped. He was also a contented man, looking
after his farm, improving his stock, and experimenting with new bulbs
in undisturbed serenity. This, however, was all too good to last. A
man is bound to have some troubles in this life, and Harrington's were
near their beg