"But, my dear Amy," said the kind old lady, as she sat down beside me, "Why is it that you are always getting into some trouble if left to yourself for ever so short a time? You cannot tell the pain it gives me. Why, an account of your various scrapes since you have been here would almost fill a book." What could I reply? It was a natural and most unfortunate propensity which displayed itself everywhere; as well with Mammy in the precincts of the nursery, as when roaming about at Aunt Henshaw's. "But the ear-rings?" said I. "You will give them to me now, will you not? I should _so_ much like to have them!" "And so you shall have them, dear," replied Aunt Henshaw. "It would he cruel to refuse them after your suffering so much for them. But I never would have mentioned them had I had any idea of such an unfortunate result." Supposing that it would please me, she got them out of the case and laid them beside me. They were very pretty, to be sure, but oh! how much suffering those ear-rings caused me! My poor ears were very sore for a long time, and I would sit for hours leaning my head on a pillow, in hopes of easing the pain. And yet, when they were at last well, and the ear-rings really in, I almost forgot what I had suffered in the delight I experienced at my supposed transformation. They were the admiration of the kitchen; and even Aunt Henshaw and Cousin Statia allowed that ear-rings were a great improvement; and I began to think that on my return home they would even throw Ellen Tracy's curls into the shade. The summer was passing away--harvest had come and gone; and while the others were engaged during this busy season, I was to be seen perched on every load of hay, from which I had of course two or three tumbles, but always on some pile beneath. The kittens had grown large and awkward, and consequently lost my favor; while the cat no longer put herself to the trouble of hiding them, so that I could now have them whenever I chose--coming like most other privileges when no longer desired. The evenings were getting chilly, so that a fire was very acceptable; and I loved to sit by the bright flame before the candles were brought in, and listen to Aunt Henshaw's stories. "Now," said I one evening when we had all comfortably arranged ourselves to spend the twilight in doing nothing, "do tell me a very interesting story, Aunt Henshaw--for you know that I am going home soon, and perhaps it is the last that I shall hear." "Well," said she with a smile, "if it is to be so very interesting, I must think very hard first." Cousin Statia had been looking towards the door, when she suddenly inquired: "Did you ever tell her about the bullet hole?" "Why, no," replied the old lady, "I do not believe I ever did. Have you noticed the round hole in the front door, Amy?"