be, I think, in about a year and
a half--a year and a half. And I have good hopes of finding there, too,
valuable information respecting this first wife of one of the second
cousins of our respected grandfather, a lady whose memory, by some
strange neglect, has been suffered to fall into oblivion. I shall be
proud to constitute myself the one to rescue it for the benefit of
posterity," continued the little man, with chivalrous enthusiasm, as he
took up his spoon. (There was one spoon to spare now; Gardis often
thought of this with a saddened heart.) Miss Duke had not interrupted
her cousin by so much as an impatient glance; trained to regard him with
implicit respect, and to listen always to his gentle, busy little stream
of talk, she waited until he had finished all he had to say about this
"first wife of one of the second cousins of our grandfather" (who,
according to the French phrase-books, she could not help thinking,
should have inquired immediately for the green shoe of her aunt's
brother-in-law's wife) before she told her story. Cousin Copeland shook
his head many times during the recital. He had not the bitter feelings
of Miss Margaretta concerning the late war; in fact, he had never come
down much farther than the Revolution, having merely skirmished a
little, as it were, with the war of 1812; but he knew his cousin's
opinions, and respected their memory. So he "earnestly hoped" that some
other site would be selected for the camp. Upon being told that the blue
army-wagons had already arrived, he then "earnestly hoped" that the
encampment would not be of long continuance. Cousin Copeland had hoped a
great many things during his life; his capacity for hoping was cheering
and unlimited; a hope carefully worded and delivered seemed to him
almost the same thing as reality; he made you a present of it, and
rubbed his little hands cheerfully afterward, as though now all had been
said.

"Do you think I should have asked them in?" said Gardis, hesitatingly.

"Most certainly, most certainly. Hospitality has ever been one of our
characteristics as a family," said Cousin Copeland, finishing the last
spoonful of milk, which had come out exactly even with the last little
square of corn-bread.

"But I did not ask them."

"Do I hear you aright? You did not ask them, Cousin Gardiston?" said the
little bachelor, pausing gravely by the table, one hand resting on its
shining mahogany, the other extended in the attitude of su