in all day at the south window and the
glass door. In summer with this door wide open and the piazza cool and
shady with woodbine and clematis, you would have agreed with the little
girls who made up Ruth Elliot's sewing circle, that first Wednesday
afternoon, that they were "just lovely!"

All were there--the Jones' twins, Ann Eliza and Eliza Ann, tall girls as
like each other as two peas and growing so fast one could always see
where their gowns were let down; Grace Tyler with curly black hair and
rosy cheeks; Nellie Dimock, a little dumpling of a girl with big blue
eyes and a funny turned up nose; Fannie Eldridge, looking so sweet and
smiling, you would not suspect she could be guilty of the fault Susie
had charged her with; and Florence Austin, whose father had lately
purchased a house in Green Meadow, and with his family had come to live
in the country. Last of all, the minister's two little daughters, whom
you have already met.

Ruth Elliot was sitting at a table covered with piles of bright calico
pieces cut and basted for sewing, and when each girl had received a
block with all necessary directions for making it, needles were
threaded, thimbles adjusted, and the Patchwork Quilt Society was in full
session.

"Now, Aunt Ruth," said Susie, "you promised to tell us a story, you
know."

"Yes; tell us about Dinah Diamond, please," said Mollie.

"You and Susie have heard that story before, Mollie."

"That does not make a bit of difference, Auntie. The stories we like
best we have heard over and over again. Besides, the other girls haven't
heard it. Come, Aunt Ruth, please begin."

And so, while all sat industriously at work, Ruth Elliot related to the
little girls

THE TRUE STORY OF DINAH DIAMOND.

"When I was a little girl," she began, "I had a present from a neighbor
of a black kitten. I carried her home in my apron, a little ball of
black fur, with bright blue eyes that turned yellow as she got bigger,
and a white spot on her breast shaped like a diamond. I remember she
spit and clawed at me all the way home, and made frantic efforts to
escape, and for a day or two was quite homesick and miserable; but she
soon grew accustomed to her surroundings, and was so sprightly and
playful that she became the pet of the house.

"The first remarkable thing she did, was to set herself on fire with a
kerosene lamp. We were sitting at supper one evening, when we heard a
crash in the sitting-room, and rushing in, f