KATY GOES TO SILVERTON.

A summer day in Silverton--a soft, bright August day, when the early
rareripes by the well were turning their red cheeks to the sun, and the
flowers in the garden were lifting their heads proudly and nodding to
each other as if they knew the secret which made that day so bright
above all others. Old Whitey, by the hitching post, was munching at his
oats and glancing occasionally at the covered buggy standing on the
greensward, fresh and clean as water from the pond could make it; the
harness, new, not mended, lying upon a rock, where Katy used to feed the
sheep with salt, and the whip standing upright in its socket, all
waiting for the deacon, donning his best suit of clothes, even to a
stiff shirt collar which almost cut his ears, his face shining with
anticipations which he knew would be realized. Katy was really coming
home, and in proof thereof there were behind the house and barn piles of
rubbish, lath and plaster, moldy paper and broken bricks, the tokens and
remains of the repairing process, which for so long a time had made the
farmhouse a scene of dire confusion, driving its inmates nearly
distracted, except when they remembered for whose sake they endured so
much, inhaling clouds of lime, stepping over heaps of mortar, tearing
their dress skirts on sundry nails projecting from every conceivable
quarter, and wondering the while if the masons ever would finish or the
carpenters be gone.

As a condition on which Katy might be permitted to come home, Wilford
had stipulated an improvement in the interior arrangement of the house,
offering to bear the expense even to the furnishing of the rooms. To
this the family demurred at first, not liking Wilford's dictatorial
manner, nor his insinuation that their home was not good enough for
his wife, Mrs. Katy Cameron. But Helen turned the tide, appreciating
Wilford's feelings better than the others could do, and urging a
compliance with his request.

"Anything to get Katy home," she said, and so the chimney was torn away,
a window was put here and an addition made there, until the house was
really improved with its pleasant, modern parlor and the large airy
bedroom, with bathing-room attached, the whole the idea of Wilford, who
graciously deigned to come out once or twice from New London, where he
was spending a few weeks, to superintend the work and suggest how it
should be done.

The furniture, too, which he sent on from New York, was per