to keep the day," said the old hostess, as they seated
themselves and drew their splint-bottomed chairs a little nearer
together than before. "You see, I was brought up to it, and father
made a good deal of it; he said he liked to make it pleasant and give
the year a fair start. I can see him now, how he used to be standing
there by the fireplace when we came out o' the two bedrooms early in
the morning, an' he always made out, poor's he was, to give us some
little present, and he 'd heap 'em up on the corner o' the mantelpiece,
an' we 'd stand front of him in a row, and mother be bustling about
gettin' breakfast. One year he give me a beautiful copy o' the 'Life
o' General Lafayette,' in a green cover,--I 've got it now, but we
child'n 'bout read it to pieces,--an' one year a nice piece o' blue
ribbon, an' Abby--that was your mother, Abby--had a pink one. Father
was real kind to his child'n. I thought o' them early days when I
first waked up this mornin', and I could n't help lookin' up then to
the corner o' the shelf just as I used to look."

"There's nothin' so beautiful as to have a bright childhood to look
back to," said Mrs. Hand. "Sometimes I think child'n has too hard a
time now,--all the responsibility is put on to 'em, since they take the
lead o' what to do an' what they want, and get to be so toppin' an'
knowin'. 'Twas happier in the old days, when the fathers an' mothers
done the rulin'."

"They say things have changed," said Aunt Cynthy; "but staying right
here, I don't know much of any world but my own world."

Abby Pendexter did not join in this conversation, but sat in her
straight backed chair with folded hands and the air of a good child.
The little old dog had followed her in, and now lay sound asleep again
at her feet. The front breadth of her black dress looked rusty and old
in the sunshine that slanted across it, and the aunt's sharp eyes saw
this and saw the careful darns. Abby was as neat as wax, but she
looked as if the frost had struck her. "I declare, she's gittin' along
in years," thought Aunt Cynthia compassionately. "She begins to look
sort o' set and dried up, Abby does. She ought n't to live all alone;
she's one that needs company."

At this moment Abby looked up with new interest. "Now, aunt," she
said, in her pleasant voice, "I don't want you to forget to tell me if
there ain't some sewin' or mendin' I can do whilst I 'm here. I know
your hands trouble you some, an' I