he
children can't get in,--the back door is locked. I do take to peace and
quiet!"

"Is Charles twelfth much like his brothers and sisters, ma'am?" said
Mr. Linden.

"Well no--" said Mrs. Seacomb, dealing out blackberry jam,--"he always
was an uncommon child. The rest's all real 'sponsible, but there's none
of 'em alike but Americus Vespucus.--It's fresh, Faith--the children
picked the blackberries in Captain Samp's lot.--Charles twelfth does
act sometimes as if he was helped. I thought he took a turn awhile ago,
to behave like the rest--but he's reacted." And having emptied the dish
of jam Mrs. Seacomb began upon the cheese.

"Which is Americus?" said Faith. "Is he older or younger than Charles
twelfth Mrs. Seacomb?"

"Well he's older," said Mrs. Seacomb;--"_that's_ him," she added, as a
loud rattling of the back door was followed in an incredibly short
space of time by a similar rattling at the front, after which came the
clatter of various sticks and clods at the window.

"I guess you won't care about seein' him nearer," said Mrs. Seacomb,
stirring her tea composedly. "Only don't nobody open the door--I do
love peace and quiet. They won't break the window, 'cause they know
they'd catch it if they did."

"Children _is_ a plague, I do s'pose," remarked Genevieve. "Is your tea
agreeable, sir?"

Which question Mr. Linden waived by asking another, and the meal
proceeded with a peace and quietness which suited no ideas but Mrs.
Seacomb's. At last tea was over; the ladies put on their bonnets again,
and the old horse being roused from his meditations, the party set
forward on their pleasant way home.

Doubly pleasant now, for the sun was just setting; the air was fresher,
and the glow of the sunset colours put a new 'glory' upon all the
colours of earth. And light and shadow made witching work of the woody
road as long as the glow lasted. Then the colours faded, the shadows
spread; grey gathered where orange and brown had been; that glory was
gone; and then it began to be shewn, little by little, as the blue also
changed for grey, that there is "another glory of the stars." And then
presently, above the trees that shaded Mrs. Seacomb's retreat, the moon
rose full and bright and laid her strips of silver under the horse's
feet.

Were they all exhausted with their afternoon's work? or was this
shifting scene of colour and glory enough to busy their minds? Mr.
Linden found his way along the road silently, and the