plomat.
There was nothing deceptive about her; but, young as she was, she
intuitively knew that some times are ripe and some are not for
discussion. The time propitious for bringing up the question of her
being but a parlor student was not until Debby and Miss Richards were
established in their little cottage at the east end of Lockport.

Satisfied that she could bring matters to pass in the fashion she
desired, Hester grew enthusiastic over the preparation for quitting the
old home. There was much to be done in spite of the fact that Debby was
never "slack" in the ways of her household. Every cupboard and closet
was gone over. Bed clothes were aired and laid away where neither mice,
rust, nor mildew could touch them. China and silver were sorted and
again sorted before Debby was able to decide what pieces were best to
take and what best to leave. The flowers were to be potted and put away
to keep for spring planting. When it came to this, Debby began to
realize what leaving home meant.

"I can take the spotted-leaved geranium," she said to Hester while they
were making the rounds of the garden. "I always do pot that for a
house-plant. I suppose it will grow as well at Lockport as here, if I
see that it is attended to. Fortunately for plants, they have no
feelings."

The words showed sentiment enough, but the tones of Debby's voice made
them seem harsh and unfeeling. Hester was not deceived. Debby Alden came
from a race who had for generations looked upon the expression of love
and sentiment as a weakness. Whenever Debby felt her emotions conquering
her, she unconsciously resorted to the ways of her forbears; she lashed
herself into a semblance of sternness in an endeavor to conceal her real
feelings.

"I suppose I'll not get a look at the asters when they bloom. It would
be a shame to let them die on the stalk without a soul pulling one. I
think I'll ask Kate Bowerman to see to them. She might pack up a few and
send to me. I'm curious to see how that new royal purple turns out. I've
been suspicious all summer that it would turn out a scrub. It looks
like a scrub."

She was bending over the plants growing along the fence which divided
her yard-proper from the garden and wood-yards beyond. Debby was proud
of her collection of asters which were of every variety known throughout
the country.

"They certainly are scrubs," she repeated as she bent for a closer
inspection.

"How do you know, Aunt Debby? To me, they