“Then don’t let us tarry.” And, indeed, she cut her good-bys very short, and with her brother was soon cutting across fields to her old home, there to be welcomed joyously by Sister Betty and the servants. “I declare, Letty, you grow like a weed!” was Betty’s greeting as, with her baby in her arms, she came into her sister-in-law’s room that evening, to watch her make her evening toilet. “Have you many pretty things?” “A few. Aunt Martha doesn’t encourage extravagance in dress.” Lettice drew down the corners of her mouth and dropped her eyes in a little prim way, while Betty laughed. “Nonsense! she is an old Puritan. It is natural for girls to like pretty things, just as it is for babies to want to catch at something bright. Isn’t it, my pretty?” And Betty gave her cooing baby a hug, as he vainly tried to clutch the shining chain his mother had been dangling before him. Lettice smiled and surveyed her dainty little figure complacently, then held out her hands for the baby. “No, don’t take him now,” said Betty; “he’ll rumple your pretty frock. He’d rather be with his mammy than either of us, anyhow.” “Is dear old Dorcas his mammy?” “Yes, of course; ‘she done nuss de whole mess o’ Hopkins, an’ she right spry yet,’” replied Betty, laughing. “Come, let’s go find her. William will be coming in pretty soon, and I must be ready to meet him, and oh, Lettice, I remembered how fond you were of buttermilk, and I told Randy to put a bucket of it down the well to keep cool for you.” Lettice gave a sigh of content and followed her sister-in-law down the broad stairway. It was so good to be at home again; to see the table set with the familiar dishes, and Speery standing there with a green branch beating away the flies. Speery giggled gleefully as she caught sight of the figure which had paused before the door. “Law, Miss Letty, yuh is a gran’ young lady, sho ’nough,” she said. “I mos’ skeered to speak to yuh.” “You needn’t be, Speery,” Lettice replied, her eyes wandering over the dark mahogany furniture, and returning to take in the details of old silver and India china upon the table. “Is that one of Miss Betty’s wedding presents--that pitcher? How pretty it is.” “Yass, miss, dat one o’ ’em. I done fergit who given it to ’er.” “Don’t forget my buttermilk, Speery,” said Lettice, as she turned away. “Naw, miss,” giggled Speery. And then Lettice went out on the porch to be hugged and kissed by her big brother, she declaring that even though she could no longer lay claim to being the baby of the family, she meant to be as much of a pet as ever.