Peter’s sisters did not seem inclined to reply, until Victoria, fearing lest the silence should exasperate her aunt, volunteered the information that he was down at the barn. “He went an hour ago to attend to his rabbits,” she said. “I suppose he is there still.” “Did he not know that I was coming?” asked her aunt. “Why rabbits when I am expected? But, after all, that is neither here nor there. You are all to come and live with me. In other words, my house shall be your home henceforth. Honor shall act as my secretary. Honor, you have the ability, and there is no reason why you should not turn it to account, instead of spending your time on a sofa. Indeed, I have not yet been told why you are on the sofa. Are you ill?” “I have a cold. But, Aunt Sophia, suppose I don’t care to be your secretary?” “I cannot suppose anything so impossible,” returned Mrs. Wentworth Ward, imperturbably; “for of course you will be only too glad to do something for me in return for the many advantages which life in town will give you. Katherine can perfect herself in music, at the same time taking charge of the _bric-á-brac_. That shall be her duty. I have decided it all.” “So it appears,” observed Katherine. “I invariably break _bric-á-brac_ when I handle it. I should advise you to make a different arrangement.” “Victoria shall continue to go to school,” continued her aunt, ignoring this suggestion. “In fact, she and Sophy and Peter are to go to boarding-school. I have already written and made the necessary arrangements. They can spend their holidays with me on Beacon Street. I shall take you into society, when our period of mourning is over. Next winter you can begin to go out a little. In fact, you can go to concerts this winter, and to lectures. It will be quite proper. I intend that your minds shall be improved. Honor, what is that book which I see peeping from beneath your pillow?” The awkward pause which followed was broken by Victoria, who hastened to divert her aunt’s mind. “Poor Honor has such a cold,” said she. “I gave her some of your remedy, Aunt Sophia, and it has worked wonders. Did you tell us to take it every three or every four hours?” “Every three hours, until the cold begins to mend, and after that, every four. You did quite right, Victoria. There is nothing like it. I cured your uncle once in less than a day and a half. And what did you say was the name of the book, Honor?” “I doubt if you have ever heard of it, Aunt Sophia,” said Honor, as she drew it forth from its hiding-place. “The name of it—” “Oh, please don’t stop to discuss books!” cried Katherine. “There is something else far more important to be talked about. We don’t want to go to Boston to live, Aunt Sophia. We don’t want to be your secretary and dust your _bric-á-brac_. We don’t want to go to boarding-school.” Mrs. Wentworth Ward looked at her calmly.