re was great fun sledding and snowballing when the
boys were not too rough. Oh, had she seen the forts and the great light
out at Fort Hill? Wasn't it just grand?

"But, you know, Walter said if the redoubts had been stone instead of
snow, the Rebels never could have taken them. You know, they called _us_
Rebels then. And now we are a nation."

Doris wondered what a redoubt was, but she saved it to ask Uncle Win.
She gave a sigh to think what an ignorant little girl she was.

"I think it is a great deal finer to be a country all by yourself and
govern your own people. The King of England is half crazy, you know. You
don't mind, do you, when we talk about the English? We don't really mean
every person, and our friends and--and all"--getting rather confused
with distinctions.

"We mean the government," interposed Helen. "It stands to reason people
thousands of miles away wouldn't know what is best for us. Wouldn't it
be ridiculous if someone in Virginia should pretend to instruct
grandmamma what to do? Grandmamma knows so much. And she is one of the
handsomest old ladies in Boston. Oh, listen!"

A mysterious sound came from the kitchen. A fiddle was surely tuning up
somewhere.

"The big folks are going to dance, and that is black Joe, Mr. Winslow's
man."

Mr. Winslow and a young lady had arrived also. They tendered many
apologies about their lateness.

The people in the dining room left the table and came out in the hall.
Cary Adams had been having a very nice time, for a young fellow. Isabel
poured the chocolate, and on her right sat a Harvard senior. Alice
poured the tea, and beside her sat Cary, who made himself useful handing
it about. He liked Alice very much. A young married couple were over on
the other side, and now this addition and the fiddle looked suspicious.

"My dear Doris," exclaimed her uncle. He had been discussing Greek poets
with the Harvard professor, and had really forgotten about her. "Are you
tired? It's about time a young person like you, and an old person like
me, went home."

He didn't look a bit old. There was a tint of pink in his cheeks--he had
been so roused and warmed with his argument and his tea.

"Oh, do let Doris stay and see them dance, just one dance," pleaded
Eudora. "We have been sitting here talking, and haven't tired ourselves
out a bit."

The fiddler and the dancers went to the room where the children had
their frolic. That was Jane Morse's cousin Winslow. How odd s