ed inquiry.

"I'm going to have one room like grandmother Manning, and live by
myself. I shan't have any husband or children. I don't want to be sewing
and knitting and patching continually, and babies are an awful sight of
trouble, and husbands are just thinking of work, work all the time. Then
I shall go visiting when I like, and though I shall read the Bible I
won't mind about remembering the sermons. I'll just have a good time by
myself."

Doris felt strangely puzzled. She always wanted a good time with
someone. The great pleasure to her was having another share a joy. And
to live alone was almost like being imprisoned in some dreary cell.
Neither could she think of Helen or Eudora living alone--indeed, any of
the girls she knew.

"Now you can go on about the wedding party," said Elizabeth after a
pause. "And you really danced! And you were not afraid the ground would
open and swallow you?"

"Why, no," returned Doris. "There are earthquakes that swallow up whole
towns, but, you see, the good and the bad go together. And I never heard
of anyone being swallowed up----"

"Why, yes--in the Bible--Korah, Dathan, and Abiram."

"But they were not dancing. I think,"--hesitatingly,--"they were finding
fault with Moses and Aaron, and wanting to be leaders in some manner."

"Well--I am glad it wasn't dancing. And now go on quick before they come
back."

Elizabeth had never read a fairy story or any vivid description. She had
no time and there were no books of that kind about the house. She fairly
reveled in Doris' brilliant narrative. She had seen one middle-aged
couple stand up to be married after the Sunday afternoon service, and
she had heard of two or three younger people being married with a kind
of wedding supper. But that Doris should have witnessed all this
herself! That she should have worn a wedding gown and scattered flowers
before the bride!

Ruth was tired of running. "I'm sleepy," she said. "Unfasten my dress, I
want to go to bed."

Betty and the boys were coming up the path, with the shadowy forms of
the grown people behind them. Mr. Manning had been taking a nap on the
rude kitchen settee, his Sunday evening indulgence. Now he came through
the hall.

"Boys, children, it's time to go to bed. You are all sleepy enough in
the mornin', but you would sit up half the night if someone did not
drive you off."

"Oh, I wish you lived here, Aunt Betty," said Foster for a good-night.

Betty and Doris were