my dears, that your aunt, although even now not entirely deficient in personal advantages—

GUSSIE. Oh, no, no! for an old lady, you are quite pretty. MISS B. (severely.) I am not so old, neither. Even though in some respects highly favored, yet by a singular freak of nature, I am deprived of a woman's crowning beauty,—a head of hair.

ELSIE. Yes, I know. I peeped through the key-hole once when you Lad your switch off. MISS B.

Naughty girl! Well, as now, even thus was it in my youth. My scalp was covered merely with a short, downy fuzz, and to conceal my deficiency, I wore a wig, which the cat dragged off.

ELSIE

GUSSIE (tittering). Wasn't that comical?

MISS B. No doubt it was fun for the cat, and my little brother,--your father, girls,-for I have since learned that prompted by some childish spite, he had pitched the beast on me from the other side of the wall. Poor boy! He's dead now. I suppose I ought to forgive him.

GUSSIE. But what became of the young man?

MISS B. Oh! he called two or three times, but I positively declined to see him. Then he accepted the post of army surgeon in a Western encampment, and I have never laid my eyes on him since. It was very foolish in me to refuse to see him, but think of it, girls,-again and again I had let him praise my auburn curls, had even let him cut one off and keep it, and the consciousness of my deceit and its detection so possessed me, I felt I could never look him in the face again. So, Elsie, that is the reason I detest cats, and Gussie, you know now why I have such a high standard of manly excellence. But enough of this. You know I expected a visit this afternoon from an old and dear friend whom I have not seen for years. It is now evening, but I am sure he will come. I want you to look your youngest and prettiest, and help me to receive him. Suppose you both wear white, as a special favor to me.

GUSSIE. Where are you going to receive him, auntie?
Miss B. In this room, of course.

GUSSIE (to Elsie). How in the world shall I get word to Horace?

ELSIE (to Gussie). What on earth am I to do about Rosalind?

MISS B. Quick, my dears. I think I hear the wheels of a carriage. I will send for you as soon as Dr. Pauncefort arrives. (Gussie and Elsie retire reluctantly. Miss B. pulls letter from her pocket and reads.) "You will doubtless be surprised at this time to receive a communication from one who, in times past, was privileged to call himself your friend. A matter of business has recalled me to my birthplace, so after years of absence, I am once more enabled to visit the scenes, and revive the associations of my youth. As my first duty and my extreme pleasure, may I be permitted to call on you before my departure? Provided it entirely suits your convenience, I beg leave to name next Tuesday afternoon as the date on which I may be favored, and remain

Madam, your obedient servant, Henry W. Pauncefort." What sentiment! what language! How like him,-the noblest of men! (She kisses the letter and puts it back into her pocket.) I cannot suppress the thought, vain and foolish though it be, that through all these years, he has remained a bachelor and I am still unwed. (Goes to window.) Ah! I was not mistaken,—a carriage has driven up to the door, a gentleman alights,--poor heart! be still,-ah! 'tis he, 'tis he, 'tis he. (Wheels around excitedly and rushes out.)

Enter Elsie.

ELSIE. Thank goodness! Auntie has left the room for a minute. (Goes to table.) Poor little Rosalind! all smothered up. (Peeps in box.) Oh! she's all right. I think I'll take her up in my room until Robert arrives. Oh, gracious! here comes somebody, I believe it's auntie. She will want to know what is in this box, and I daren't deceive her. I know, I'll put it in the closet, and hide until she leaves the room. (Puts box in closet, and hides behind chair.)

Enter Gussie.

GUSSIE. Thank goodness! Auntie has left the room for a minute. I can now signal to Horace, and tell him to wait for me in the garden. (Runs to window and waves handker chief.) He isn't there-yes, yes, he is, I see him, oh, horror! he is climbing up the trellis. Horace, don't come up; I'l be down in the garden. He doesn't understand me,— he is coming in. Oh! what shall I do?

Enter Horace through the window.

HORACE. My darling! I saw you at the window, and 1 could not stand it any longer. I felt as though I must speak to you should it cost me my life. I am going far away tomorrow, before daybreak. You may never see me again.

GUSSIE. Oh, Horace! don't say that. You will break my heart. It was very kind in you to come, but I expect auntie every minute with a strange gentleman. If she finds you here, what will she think? what will she say?

HORACE. I don't care. I will defy them both.

GUSSIE. You'd better not. Horrors! here they come now. Quick, the window. No, you will make a noise, and the servants will hear you. You'd best hide. Let's see,— here's the closet. (Opens door.) You will have to stoop or you will bump your head against the shelf. Hurry, oh, please hurry. (Horace enters, Gussie closes door and hides behind sofa. Just as she does this, Elsie rises, points to closet, and whispers hoarsely “Rosalind,” then sinks down again.)

Enter Miss Barker leaning on arm of Dr. Pauncefort.

MISS B. Indeed, Doctor, you cannot imagine how delighted I was to receive your letter; the sight of your name brought up such a flood of happy recollections.

DR. PAUNCEFORT. Consider my happiness also, to be welcomed so warmly by her whom I have always regarded as the personification of the Genius of Hospitality.

MISS B. Ah, Doctor! I see you have not forgotten how to pay a compliment. But I expected you earlier; I hoped to have had you dine with us;-your letter said, afternoon.

DR. P. Yes, I fully expected to arrive here this afternoon. But for an unfortunate accident which happened to me this morning near Terrington, I should have kept my word.

MISS B. An accident! you alarm me.

DR. P. Fortunately, I was not injured in the least, although it might have been a very serious affair.

MISS B. Pray, tell me all about it.

DR. P. When I arrived at Terrington this morning, owing to delay of train, I missed the Hopewood connection. The day being a very pleasant one, I thought I would not wait for the cars, but would take a carriage and drive across country, thus giving myself an opportunity to visit the old familiar places. I applied at the hotel, and was furnished

with a buggy and what was represented as a safe horse. I did not like the animal's eye, but concluded to risk myself with him. Though I left this part of the world so long ago, yet I thought I knew every inch of the ground. I drove up the pike from the station, turned down the Brushville road, and mounted Perryman's Hill. To my surprise, when I reached the summit, I found the entire place was changed. What was formerly a steep, smooth hill, had been excavated; great holes had been dug out of its side, and huge rocks and trunks of trees had been torn out of the earth and were lying promiscuously around, while at the base of the hill ran the track of a railroad. I paused for a moment, holding the reins loosely in my hand, and thinking of the changes a few years can produce, when suddenly I heard the rumble and saw the smoke of an approaching train darting around a curve. The horse pricked up his ears and snorted. I saw he was scared and tightened the reins, but it was of no avail; I could not hold him; he reared violently, then made a desperate plunge down the embankment. Oh, what a terrible experience! I held tight to the sides of the buggy, paralyzed with fright. In a moment I would have been dashed out on the rocks, or perhaps thrown on the track to be crushed to death by the approaching train, when-it must have been the hand of Providence-I saw the figure of a man rise from the bushes at the base of the hill, throw his arms around the beast, and bring him to a stop, just as the train rushed past.

MISS B. (covering her face with her hand.) How dreadful! What a marvelous escape! But Doctor, were you not hurt?

DR. P. No, the buggy was pretty well damaged, but strange to say, although somewhat shaken up, I was not injured in the least. Nor was the young man who rescued me,-that is, he said he was not, but I think he must have been bruised. MISS B. How noble of the young man! Do you know his name?

DR. P. No. Of course I was too much confused at the time to make any inquiries. I thanked him heartily, however, offered him any reward,-which he politely but firmly declined,―omitting in my excitement to take his name and address. But I have since learned his name is Drinkworth, or Dullworth, some such name.

MISS B. Is it Duckworth?

DR. P. Yes, that is it,-Duckworth.

MISS B. Can you describe him? I think I know him. DR. P. Hardly. But I would know him directly were 1 to see him. He is of medium height, has very gentlemanly manners, and a most candid and ingenuous countenance.

MISS B. (aside.) Robert Duckworth! Just like him,-too modest to say a word. (To Dr. P.) Exactly. Doctor, you must congratulate me when I tell you that I, too, have an interest in this brave young man,—he is the accepted suitor for the hand of my niece.

DR. P. Indeed! you have great cause for congratulation. I am much pleased to receive such information.

Miss B. Yes, he proposed this very afternoon for my niece, Elsie, and received my consent to the marriage. Oh!-you must see my nieces; they are sweet girls.

DR. P. Nieces, did you say? You surely must mean sisters. It seems so strange to hear you speak of nieces,— you whom the hand of time has so lightly touched.

MISS B. O Doctor! you flatter me.

DR. P. You, whose form and features bear evidence of a perennial rejuvenescence.

During this conversation the girls have raised their heads above

their places of concealment, and are intently observing and enjoying what is going on. At this last sentence of the Doctor's, they exchange glances, and say Ah-h-h! Miss Barker springs up. Just as she does so the girls disappear from sight.

MISS B. I am sure I heard a sound in the room-ha! what was that?

DR. P. (rising.) I heard nothing. What sort of a noise? MISS B. O Doctor! how dare I express myself. I fancied for a moment I heard the far-off wail of a cat.

DR. P. A cat!

Miss B. Yes, but it is impossible; there is not one allowed on the place. Come, Doctor, resume your seat.

They are about to sit down, when a faint "miaow" is heard. Miss B. staggers and almost falls in Dr. Pauncefort's arms. MISS B. I must be dreaming. Ah, Doctor! well you know what dreadful recollections are evoked by the sound of a feline voice.

DR. P. Alas, too well. But do not think of the wretched