Alison cast an amused glance at her sister as she hastily tucked under a few stray, curling tendrils which had escaped from the confines of her neat braids. “A frowsy head!” she whispered as she passed Christine. “I must go and wet it into sleekness or I shall be disgraced.” The thought that she would soon escape from the lectures of an over-particular uncle and the reproving words of a particular aunt made her sing a little song of joy as she ran down-stairs again. Her uncle was just coming in. “A little too noisy, Alison,” he said. “Remember that ‘the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.’” “Yes,” she returned brightly, “but the wise man also says, ‘A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.’ You read that this morning, I remember.” Alison was usually too ready to meet her uncle’s quotations with counter-texts exactly to meet his approval, for he preferred to adapt the Scriptures to point his own opinions. But on this occasion he said nothing and the two passed on to the dinner-table. Nevertheless this small passage at arms had its effect in producing less opposition when the moment came for Alison to declare her decision. This she did that same evening, after supper, when all were gathered in the living-room. Save for the ticking of the big clock all was very still. Uncle Brown was poring over his weekly paper, while Aunt Miranda neatly patched a hole in some table linen, and Christine’s fingers were flying along the hem of a sheet. “Have you nothing to do, Alison?” asked her aunt disapprovingly. “Where is your knitting?” “I have it here,” responded Alison, producing her knitting-bag and drawing forth a half finished sock. “I want to tell you,” she said, speaking hurriedly, “that I have decided to go with John and Christine.” Mr. Brown lowered his paper. “And quite rightly, Miranda,” he observed. “Christine will need the companionship of another woman, and, if ill, her ministrations. I am glad Alison has seen where her duty lies and that she has chosen the rough path of industry and privation rather than the smooth one of sleek and untroubled ease.” Mrs. Brown looked a little surprised and was ready with her protest. “But for a young girl like you, Alison, to go to such a place as that, haunted by cut-throat Mexicans and lawless Indians, seems unnecessary. Of course if one of you must go, Christine is the older and therefore the proper one, though I must say it would be better if she could remain in a more civilized community. As your father’s elder sister I must object, and I am surprised that you should countenance this decision, Ephraim.” She turned to her husband.